I'll Make a believer Out of You
by SkySong92
Summary: In the summer before her junior year, Bella Swan moves to a quite neighborhood on the outskirts of Chicago with her father and mother, but soon finds out that the lovely old house that is now her home holds a secret. . . AH sort of
1. Moving in

**Disclaimer: all of these characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. :) I'm just borrowing them for a bit. **

**Author's note: So, this is my first FanFic, a story that's been hanging around in my head for a while. I hope you like it. :D Also, this isn't all human, but it's no Vampires. More or less, it's what might've happened if vampires didn't exist. And I took some liberties with other aspects of the plot. Some vamps you're familiar with will show up later, fully human. :)**

"Isabellllllllaaaaaaaaa! I know this is hard for you, and I promise we can talk and you can mope **later, **but could you _please _come and help your father and I unpack **now**? There's still a bunch of stuff in the van!"

"Sorry, Mom! Coming!" I yelled back down the stairs at her, but I couldn't help scowling to myself. I love her, I really do, and my Dad, they're great, but they get on my nerves sometimes. Can't I have just five seconds to myself? Well, kay, it's been more than five seconds, and alright, I get it, we do need to get all the stuff into the house. But really, I wasn't even moping! I was actually admiring this room. _My _room. I hadn't expected to like it here. I mean, it's not like I'm really leaving all that much behind, but as a rule, I don't like change. That's why I hadn't expected to like this house, this room. But somehow, I do. The house is beautiful, and well, this room-the one I picked as soon as we first set foot in the house- feels _right_ somehow. It feels like it suits me. Lame as it sounds, this room has a "pull" for me.

The sound of impatient grunting from downstairs as my Dad dragged another heavy box into our new house broke me out of my reverie, and I dashed out the door of my new room, shutting it behind me, and pounding down the stairs. I nearly crashed into Renee at the foot of the stairs.

"goodness Bella, you can make an entrance, can't you! There's still quite a bit of stuff left in the moving van - go out there, the guys will help you find something you can carry, just bring it in and put it where the label says."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at that. It was classic Renee "I know Mom, this isn't the first time we've moved."

It was drizzling a bit when I went outside, but I didn't really mind. Somehow, bizarrely, I really didn't understand it, but I welcomed this place, this city, everything about it. The bustling metropolitan downtown we'd driven through, and now this quiet older section of the city, the wide street with beautiful trees - quite unlike those I was used to. And, when I turned away from the van, having picked up a not-too-heavy-box that said "family room", I looked at the house, and I welcomed it, too. It was a beautiful old house. White, two stories high, and wooden, not the brick of most of the neighboring ones. It was timeless, well kept, but also very old. Charlie had said it had been built for an upper-middle-class man and his family around the turn of the century.

----------

"So Bells, how're you liking Chicago? Listen hon, I'm sorry we had to leave Arizona, and you know you can always talk to me and your Mom about anything, right?" Charlie asked that night at dinner - an unusually long speech for him - it was usually Renee who did the talking. They both looked at me sympathetically, holding hands on top of the table.

It was our first night in the new Chicago house, and we were sitting around the battered wooden dining table, one of the only things we'd unpacked, eating delivery pizza. The things they were saying made me feel kind of bad. I'd kicked up too much of a fuss about this move, when I probably should have been grateful. When our lease ended on the house in Phoenix, and the owner didn't want to renew it, Mom had decided it was time to move, and the choices had been here( Mom- she thought there would be good job opportunities here, and she hated small towns), and Forks, Washington(Dad- it was where he grew up). At the time, that had been the only thing I'd been happy about - that it was here, and not Forks. But that all seemed silly now. Sitting here, in this kitchen, felt right, for reasons I couldn't even explain to myself.

"It's all right mom, really. I'm sorry I was so whiny before, I actually think I'm going to like it here. And the best thing is, it's only the beginning of July- I've got the whole summer to make friends and get used to Chicago before I start my junior year." Mom looked surprised - but pleased, at this little cheerful, but, I realized, truthful, speech. I decided to leave, though, before we could get into any more sentimental conversation. Like Charlie, I'm not that big on talking about how I feel. "I'm going to go and look around the top floor before bed, 'kay Mom?"

"Alright sweetie, but don't be too long, I want to get this house in order tomorrow!"

"I won't, Mom, just a few minutes, then I'll have a quick shower and go to bed."

After giving Charlie a quick hug, and Renee a peck on the cheek, I climbed slowly up the wide staircase with its honey-coloured wooden railings, coming out in the middle of the top floor. It was arranged in a sort of a square, with the stairs in the middle, and a hallway all around. I started with the room on the far left - mine. I looked in at the blank, sunshine-yellow walls(that was good, it was a nice colour, I wouldn't even have to paint), and the boxes on the floor, the beautiful little window seat, the door to the spacious closet, and the one for my personal bathroom(I smiled at the thought). I closed that door, and continued down the hall.

Next to me was what would be the guest room, then a linen closet, then my parents' room, and their bathroom. I'd thought that would be the end of my little tour, as the sign that was still in the lawn said "three bedrooms"- but there was another door.

It looked the same as the others, except for the handle. While the other hardware had been replaced, it looked like, somewhere along the house's long life, with modern, shiny doorknobs that had built in push locks, this looked like it was still the original. It was differently shaped than a normal doorknob- smaller, not spherical, and a dull brown-grey colour. It was rough, worn metal, not smooth and shiny like the others. There was also an old-fashioned keyhole below it. I turned it eagerly, intrigued as to what lay beyond this unexpected door, but it wouldn't move. I jiggled it several times, but it wouldn't budge. Must be locked.

"Dad!" I heard myself calling as I ran down the stairs, while wondering why I cared. "Dad, what's that extra room beyond yours and Mom's? The one with old-fashioned handle? The one that's locked?"

"Extra door, Bella? What extra door? Oh, wait, I think the agent might have said something about that" he added absent-mindedly "Yeah, apparently it was locked ever since the house was sold, after the first owners left. No one's ever been able to open it."

"But why, haven't they tried a locksmith?"

"I don't know, Bells", he sighed, "But does it really matter? It's not that big, you can tell from the outside of the house. But don't bother looking,", he said, seeing my feet move towards the front door, "Those shutters have always been locked." He still seemed to think I looked too curious, because he added "Really, hon, it's probably nothing. Go get some sleep, okay?"

"Right, Dad. 'Night!" I mumbled, while secretly vowing to myself that, sometime this summer, I would solve the mystery of that door.

I got ready for bed distractedly, still puzzled by the door, and unable to see why I was so interested in the first place. I blew up an air mattress, unrolling my seldom-used sleeping bag on top. I'd had the same furniture since I was about five, and, probably to make me more open to the idea of moving, Charlie and Renee had promised me an all-new bedroom set when we got here, so for the next few nights I'd be on the floor.

I filled a glass with water from the sink in my bathroom and set it beside my bed, then turned out the light, called a goodnight to Charlie and Renee, and slipped into my sleeping bag. I stared out the window, thinking about that door again, until I finally fell asleep.

-----------------

When I awoke, it was abrupt. It was also the middle of the night. I blinked a couple times, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, then registered what I was seeing. There was someone sitting in my window seat. A boy, about my age, I would guess, but it was hard to tell, he had his back to me. He was dressed strangely, in very old-fashioned clothes, and his hair was a striking, reddish-brown colour, and smoothed back in a style that brought to mind images of soldiers from the First World War. These weren't the only odd things about the boy, though. He had a very odd quality to him. Dream-like, sort of fuzzy at the edges. It was what stopped me from being scared, because I was pretty sure he wasn't real.

He interrupted my staring then, turning towards me. With a half-smile on his lips, he got up, turned and walked out my door. Without thinking, I got out of bed and followed him into the hall. He walked the length of the upstairs, until he got to the door at the very end. The one that wouldn't open. He turned to look at me again, grinning, and walked through the door.

I stumbled the few steps to the door, and rattled the handle, but it was still as locked as ever. I stood there for what seemed like ages, until tiredness got the best of me, and I walked back to my room, crawling into bed.

As I drifted off again, - had I ever actually been awake? - one thought swam to the forefront of my mind. I _had_ to get into that room.

**Thank you for reading the first installment of my first fanfic!! I'll try to have more chapters soon, I have four written, but I need to type them. Also, if you reviewed, I would love it. :D**


	2. I don't believe in ghosts

**Chapter two! Thank you to everyone who read my first chapter, and here is, as promised, the second chapter of **_**I'll Make a Believer out of You**_**; **_**I don't believe in ghosts. **_**I know that these first few chapters might be a little on teh slow side, but I promise thigns will start to get more exciting by chapter five, so please hang in there till then! :D**

* * *

**  
**

Sometimes, it's pretty amazing what your brain can accomplish while your body is asleep. My brain, for example, had been hard at work all night as I slept (somewhat) peacefully. I know this because, when I awoke, with a pleasantly cool summer morning breeze playing across my face, and the sunshine making rectangles of bright gold on my bare floor, I had a perfectly sound explanation for what had happened last night. Well, it was perfectly sound if I didn't look too closely.

I had an essentially boring life, so I felt the subconscious need to create in it some intrigue, a bit of drama. That is why, when I saw that locked door, I imagined all kinds of wild, and often sinister scenarios. And that's why, thinking about the door, I dreamed up a ghost to add an extra layer of mystery. That's all it was. A dream. My subconscious running amok. Or, that's what I was telling myself. Regardless, I vowed to put the dream, and the door, out of my mind.

My mind somewhat settled by this explanation, I was relatively calm as I selected a clean pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt, got dressed, and went downstairs.

The kitchen, when I went downstairs, was warm and full of light. It was bright, spacious and open, classically styled, but clean and up-too-date, with smooth, mottled blue tile floors, and our old, worn wooden table in the centre. It was a nice room, a nice house. I liked it.

Charlie noticed then, the small smile that had appeared on my face as I examined the room. "What's up, Bells? You're in a good mood this morning."

"I know, Dad", I said "It's a nice day. And a nice house. It's really beautiful."

"I know", Charlie replied, and now he was smiling too. "We were very lucky to get it."

His words reminded me of something that had been nagging at the back of my mind for several days. I hadn't really wanted to bring it up, as my parents were a little bit sensitive about money, but he was practically inviting me to ask. "Yeah, I was actually wondering about that, Dad. I mean, this house is a bit bigger than the one's we've lived in before. And I know you and Mom haven't gotten any raises." I felt almost accusatory now, but I wanted the truth. "Can we really afford it?"

To my relief, Charlie didn't look uncomfortable, or offended, like I had worried. He smiled, but I also detected an air of nervousness about him. "Yeah. . .", he started, and he was definitely nervous now. "Well, apparently, this house hasn't been able to keep tenants for very long. I think it's actually been empty for a while now. That's why the price was so low."

He was evidently hoping I would leave it at that.

No such luck, though. "Why?", I demanded. "Why has it been empty? Why can't it keep tenants?"

"Well,", he said, chuckling. I think he was attempting a derisive laugh, to show he didn't put much stock in what he was about to tell me, but it just came off as nervous. "Well, I guess the folks around here are a bit superstitious. They say the house is supposed to be haunted." He laughed again, but it was a bit less nervous this time.

But I didn't really notice that. _I_ almost had a heart attack. "Haunted?", I managed to choke out. He was ruining all mind's careful work of last night.

Charlie looked distinctly uncomfortable now, his face told me I had just given him exactly the reaction he'd been hoping to avoid. "Bella, don't get all superstitious on me! You don't believe in ghosts!" He had a point there. I didn't, or, at least, I hadn't. And I was trying very hard to keep it that way. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you this, Bella. I'm sure it's really nothing." I didn't appear convinced, apparently, because he continued, pleading now. "Somebody was probably home alone, heard a noise, and thought it was a ghost. They spread the story around, and now all those people are seeing ghosts because they think they're going to! Bella, it's nothing but self-fulfilling prophecy, okay? I want you to forget about it."

"Alright", I replied, promising myself, as much as him. And I **would** forget. This didn't change anything. It was still just a dream. The people here evidently had the same problem as me, the need to create drama. I **would **put it out of my mind.

---------------------------------------

The rest of that week, and the start of the next, passed very quickly. Renee kept Charlie and me very busy, getting us all unpacked and the house in order, so I barely had time to think, till I found myself, the following Thursday, putting the finishing touches on my room. The rest of the house was pretty much finished, and I was now making up the new wrought-iron bedstead with cheery, blue, green, and yellow striped linens, and placing some matching pillows on my window-seat. When I was satisfied, I pulled my well-worn copy of Jane Austen's _Sense and Sensibility _off the bookcase and settled down to read. I hadn't even opened the book, though, when I realized I'd left the suitcase that I'd been living out of for the past week lying on my floor.

I went over and put everyhting away, then closed the bag and brought it to my closet. There was a handy shelf built into it, above my head, and empty at the moment except for a few shoeboxes. I lifted the now-empty suitcase above my head, and began to slide it onto the shelf. But, before it was all the way on, it hit something and wouldn't go any further. That was odd. The shelf was definitely deep enough, and yes, there was a gap between the suitcase and the wall. There must be something back there. I pulled the bag back out, set it on the floor, and stepped up on top. I still couldn't really see the back of the shelf, but now I could reach. I slid my palms slowly, carefully along the aged wood, until the tips of my fingers encountered something cold, hard, and smooth.

My hands explored this new discovery, and I surmised that it was a metal box of some sort, about a foot across, maybe seven or eight inches deep, and a couple of inches tall. I pulled it off the shelf, stepping off my suitcase, and carried the box carefully over to my desk.

The dimensions were roughly what I had assumed, and it was finished in a dull, green-grey colour, but this was flaking off in places to expose the shinier grey steel beneath. there were no markings on the surface other than these random patches of metal, only unobtrusive hinges on the back, and a simple metal catch at the front.

My heart was beating fast as I prepared to lift the lid, and I had to stop and steady myself. Why, _why_, did I, inexplicably, think that this box somehow had something to do with my dream(I would _not_ think of it as a ghost), and that door? There was no way it dated back to the first owners of the house, I told myself. Somebody would've discovered it by now, if that were the case. It was probably nothing more than a box full of old bills, or burnt-out christmas lights.

It was probably nothing, but I still couldn't help my mounting excitement as I slowly lifted the lid on its stiff hinged, dislodging rust flakes and paint chips.

The contents didn't disappoint. The topmost item was a small, thin, leather-bound book. Under it were two more books, almost identical to the first. The rest of the box was full of yellowed newspaper clippings. I examined the books more closely, and realized that they were journals. The paper was yellowing, and the brown leather covers were completely bare, save for a small line of embossed writing on the bottom of the back cover, the same on all three;

**E. MASEN**

Why was I getting the feeling that this was the key to connecting my odd experiences of the past few days? And, more importantly, who was E. Masen?

* * *

**That concludes chapter two of _I'll Make a Believer out of You!_ Thank you for reading, adn, I'd love it if you would tell me your thoughts in a review!**

**-SkySong**

**(Ps, Anyone who knows where my name comes from gets a gold star. :D)**


	3. Who in Chicago is E Masen?

**Hello Again! Here is, as promised, chapter three of I'll Make a Believer out of You! I'm thrilled with the reception this story has gotten, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed!! This is the longest chapter yet(which is good, 'cause 4 is kind of short) in which Bella does some more snooping around.**

* * *

**  
**

As I lay down that night in my new bed, my head was reeling. I had worked so hard for the past two weeks to put the dream, the ghost story, and the door out of my mind. I had been sure it was only in my over-active imagination that they somehow were connected, but now, even though, really, there wasn't any more evidence, I felt convinced. Convinced that there was _something_ going on, and yet, I had no idea what to think.

I hadn't had very much time to inspect the contents of the box today. Only long enough to look at a few of the newspaper clippings, and see that they all seemed to be about the First World War, or, as it had been referred to then, the Great War, and that they seemed to all date from 1918 and 1917, with maybe one or two from 1916. I'd only been looking through them for about fifteen minutes when Renee called me away to do more work on the house, and she'd kept me busy all day. I still had not opened any of the journals, but I wasn't sure why. I guess it felt like I was intruding on someone's privacy, reading the private diaries of someone I didn't know. I knew that whoever they were, they were probably dead by now, but somehow, that almost made it worse. So, I wasn't going to read E. Masen's journals, not yet, but I did have plans to find out more about him or her, and I was thinking about them as I drifted off.

I didn't sleep well that night. I'd decided how I was going to go about gathering more information about E. Masen, but carrying out my plan would be another story. When I had talked to Charlie before about things like this - the door, and then the ghosts - he'd been less-than-helpful, angry, even. I think he was only scared of me getting freaked out and superstitious about ghosts, not wanting to live here anymore, but I would still have to ask him just right. I woke often, thinking - worrying, really - about it.

When I woke, it was cloudy outside, the first time it had been since we'd moved here. With the dull grey light filtering through my curtains, even my room, with its sunny yellow walls, managed to look less cheerful than usual, although that could've just been my mood.

I dressed quickly, eager to get this over with, but also hoping, almost desperately, that I would succeed. This mystery was beginning to consume me. I think that said something about me - probably that I was dissatisfied with my boring life - but I really didn't care. I knew this preoccupation with E. Masen, whoever he or she might be, was probably not a good thing, and I still couldn't figure out why I cared. But I did.

When I got downstairs, Charlie was on his own at the kitchen table - Renee liked to sleep in, now that the house was mostly in order. He was sitting, contemplating a bowl of cornflakes and a cup of coffee, but he looked up when I walked in. "Morning, Bella."

"Hey Dad", I replied, reaching into the cupboard for a class, and then to the fridge to fill it with orange juice. I stared at the yellow liquid for a moment, before finding my voice. "Dad?", I queried, taking a sip.

"Yeah, Bells?"

"Well, I was wondering, do you have, like, a deed, a record or something, that lists the people who owned the house before us?" He immediately looked suspicious, his mind evidently going exactly where I didn't want it to, so I quickly continued, "I was just wondering about the history of the house", I continued, but the excuse sounded weak to my ears. "It's really old, historic, even. I was hoping to find out more about it, you know?"

He deliberated for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "All right, if that's all you want it for. There's stuff about the house in the middle drawer on the right-hand side of the desk in my study."

"Thanks Dad", I said, working to keep the excitement out my tone. I didn't want it to seem like this was too important, merely a whim, idle curiosity - while inside, I was thrilled it had worked - I wasn't a very good liar.

I tried to walk normally as I left the kitchen, but as soon as I was out of Charlie's line of sight, I quickened my pace, while still trying to keep it relatively silent. In the study, I quickly found the document that interested me; a "record of tenants", and sped upstairs to examine it, locking my door as soon as I was in my room.

The document was three pages long, and it listed information about all the house's occupants in chronological order, with the most recent at the top of the first page.

First, there was the price the house had been bought for, then:

_Owned by:_

_2004- : Charles H. Swan and Renee D. Swan_

_Occupied by:_

_2004- : Charles H. Swan, Renee D. Swan, and Isabella M. Swan_

Below that, there was _Reason for vacating:_ which, in our case, was blank. I flipped slowly through the stack of paper, sensing the information I wanted would be on the very last page, but looking at the other entries all the same. I noticed again what Charlie had mentioned earlier, that none of the house's tenants had stayed long, and it had often been vacant, sometimes for periods of several years. I looked curiously at the "Reason for vacating", but of course, none of them said "haunted". No one would actually admit, at least not on paper, that that was why they were leaving.

Finally, at the very bottom of the last page, I found what I was looking for.

_Construction: _

_1899-1901_

_Owned by: _

_1901-1918: Edward W. Masen_

E. Masen!

and then:

_Occupied by:_

_1901-1918: Edward W. Masen, Elizabeth E. Masen, and Edward A. Masen_

Edward W. Masen. Elizabeth E. Masen. Edward A. Masen. _Three_ E. Masens?

And then:

_Reason for vacating: _

_Deceased_

_Deceased._ So they had died then, in 1918?

No, I reasoned, they didn't all die, necessarily. I was assuming that the owner of the house, Edward E. Masen, was married to Elizabeth, and Edward A. was their son, so, then, had Edward W. died, leaving his wife and son alone, and causing them to sell the house, and move in with family? But no, that didn't seem right. Judging by the dates, Edward A. had to be at least 17 when his father had died. Wouldn't that have been old enough for him and his mother to live in the house alone? My eyes quickly scanned up the page, to see if "Edward A. Masen" had owned the house next, but no, it had passed into the hands of "Alexander F. Cole", whoever that was. So then, had they both died? Maybe. But what caused two people, presumably fairly far apart in age, one probably relatively young, to die at the same time, within a year of each other?

Then I remembered _what_ year it was. 1918. Had I not just been looking at newspaper clippings from the Great War? I thought of it then, and it made a bit of sense. Edward and Edward, father and son, both gone away to war together. Elizabeth left alone, obsessively collecting every scrap of war news she could and storing it away. Then, when they had both been killed, she sold the house, being unable to bear living so close to their memories. I realized then, that I was over-romanticising the story, but that it also seemed plausible.

I thought I may have answered some questions, but I still couldn't be sure. How could I find out more? It still didn't feel right, somehow, to look through the journals, but there had to be another way. I absent-mindedly wandered over to my desk and woke up the sleeping computer. My sub-conscious mind must have had the idea before my conscious realized it, because I was already at the homepage of Google Maps before I realized what I could do. A graveyard. If I could find the right one, it could tell me everything. If the graves of the whole family were there, then I would know when they died, and presumably that they didn't die in the war. I don't profess to be an expert on WW1, not at all, but I was pretty sure that they hadn't returned soldiers home to the states to be buried. If Edward and Edward weren't there, then I could assume that they died in the war. And, if I couldn't find any of them at all, well, I had the wrong cemetery.

I punched our address into the search, and then searched for cemeteries close by. I had no idea what denomination the Masens had been, but the Presbyterian cemetery was the biggest, and also the closest. It also dated from approximately the right time, the little blurb said it was in use from 1865-1920, so I packed a shoulder bag with the essentials - notebook, digital camera, and went downstairs.

Charlie had left for work already- he'd transferred from the Phoenix PD to the Washington PD when we moved, but Renée was still home. She'd found a job already, but, being a teacher, she was still on vacation.

I found her in the living room, staring at a picture she had just hung. As I watched, she shook her head, stepped forward, and took it off the wall. "No. . . maybe by the sofa. . . "

"Mom?"

"Oh, Bella, I didn't see you there, honey! Are you having a good day?"

"Yeah mom, great. I was actually thinking of going for a bit of a walk, OK? I won't be too long."

"Alright Bella, but if you're going to be back after 1:30, call me, OK?

"Yeah, mom", I replied, rolling my eyes when she couldn't see. She's too nervous sometimes. by "call me before 1:30", she means she'll call _me_ if she hasn't heard from me by 12:45.

When I got outside, it was beginning to be quite a nice day. The clouds of earlier this morning had mostly dissipated, and the sky was now a brilliant, clear blue dotted with cotton fluffs. The sun diffused greenly down through the tall, stately maples as I set off down the street in the direction my printed-off map indicated, creating a cool, lush atmosphere that felt more like May than July.

The distance proved to be a lot larger in real life than it had looked on the map, and I was just starting to wish that I hadn't sold my old bike when we moved, when I came upon it. Quite suddenly, the row of big brick houses gave way to a low iron fence enclosing a neatly manicured lawn dotted with a patchwork of stones. I walked along the fence until I came to a waist-high gate of the same iron pattern, under an arch that read MAPLEDALE PRESBYTERIAN CEMETERY. I opened the slightly creaking gate, and stepped inside.

As I looked around me, I noticed something a little odd. There was the normal range of headstones; I could see everything from a few mossy and crumbling grey stones in the back corner, to a great white marble angle. One type of stones, however, seemed to be quite over-represented. In a wide variety or materials, from cheap-looking rough grey stone to more sumptuous granite and marble, the exact same simple cross appeared all over the cemetery. Odd. Had this been some sort of weird fashion in grave markers? But, I reminded myself, I didn't have time to worry about such oddities, I was here with a purpose.

I started at the front right-hand corner of the yard, and walked along the rows in a zig-zag pattern; right-left, left-right. As I walked, I examined the stones, searching for the name "Masen". I had walked along three rows and not seen it yet, but I had noticed something else, something unsettling. The plain crosses weren't the only thing over-represented here. It seemed like at least every second marker I passed, maybe more, bore a death date of 1918. This was getting stranger. I also realized that an overwhelming majority of these stones were the plain, simple crosses.

It was halfway along the fourth row that I finally spotted a Masen, and knew I had the right cemetery, but, looking closer, I saw that it was _William Thomas Masen_'s grave, and the date of death was some fifteen years previous to when I knew Edward W. to have died, but could it have been some relation? Next to William was another, _Emma Jane Masen. _She had died in 1915. It was next to her that I found what I was looking for.

_RIP_

_Edward William Masen_

_February 27, 1876 - September 3, 1918_

He was only 42. That looked like he hadn't died of old age, at least. I knew people died younger then, but I didn't think _that_ much younger. But, didn't the fact that it was here at all mean he didn't die in the war? So it was something else then. Something else that killed a lot of people, by the looks of it. It also struck me as odd that that was all that was on his stone. No "loving father and husband, you will be missed", or anything similar. Just "RIP", the name, and the dates. That seemed a little strange to me. I took a photo of his stone, noting that it was one of the plain crosses, but in a shiny, polished marble.

Sure enough, the next stone belonged to _Elizabeth Eleanor Masen. _It was exactly like Edward's; same white marble, same shape, same information. The name, "RIP", and then. . .

_April 12, 1877- September 29, 1918. _

They had died within less than a month of each other. This was getting even more bizarre. I documented Elizabeth's stone in the same way as Edward's, and then moved on, to be faced with the white marble cross for _Edward Anthony Masen. _It was almost identical to his ( I was assuming) parents', "RIP", his name, and the date. It was this last that shocked me.

_June 20, 1901-September 29, 1918._

He had died the same day as his mother. I mechanically took a photo of this one too, and then turned back toward the gate.

* * *

As I walked back home, my mind was reeling. I still couldn't decide whether this had been a good idea or not. My little field trip has raised just as many questions, if not more, as it had answered.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! And, again, please tell me your thoughts in a review! Also, I will confess that I have made up what seem like some plausible, but not necessarily accurate historical details in this and the next few chapters. :P**

* * *


	4. The end

**Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, as always. :D**

**AN: First of all, let me just clarify one point so nobody freaks out on me. Regardless of the title of this chapter, this is not the last chapter. :D "The end" refers to something within the story. This chapter was hard to name, and that was the best I could come up with. And then, of course, thank you to everyone who reviewed!! Please continue to review, as I really love it, and it encourages me to write more(hint, hint) :P So, without further ado, chapter four!**

* * *

I spent all the rest of that day in my room, trying to make sense of what I had learned. I tested out at least a dozen different theories, but each seemed more unlikely than the last. As I lay down to sleep, I was no closer to making sense of the new information than I had been when I left the cemetery that afternoon. I did, however, now have new plan of attack. Tomorrow, it would be E(Elizabeth?). Masen's newspaper clippings.

After a quick breakfast with Charlie and Renee in the sunny kitchen, I went straight up to my room the next morning. I pulled all of the clippings from the box, leaving the journals inside. I closed and locked my door to avoid awkward questions from Charlie. Then, spreading all the bits of yellowing newsprint on my floor, I tried to put them in order. I was mostly looking for dates, but I noticed a bit about the articles too. I quickly realized that my original observation had been wrong. They weren't _mostly_ about the war, they were _all_ about the war; there wasn't a single one about anything else. I also noticed that there were barely any articles on the home side of the war, they were mostly all detailing battles, or telling of acts of bravery that had earned medals.

After a couple of hours' work, I had them all in chronological order, a collection of clippings spanning from late 1916 to the beginning of September 1918. The first several months, almost half-year of clippings were fairly widely spaced, with maybe only one every two weeks or so, and I saw headlines telling of battles involving all the Allied powers, especially Britain and Canada. Then, with America's entry into the war in April 1917, they became much more frequent. With them laid out like this, I could also see that there were some pieces of news that had definitely been favourites, with worn edges as if they had been handled very frequently. Some even had little handwritten notes penciled into the margins.

Two of these in particular jumped out at me. The first was very worn, as if it had been read and re-read repeatedly. It was a cover story, withe the title "The Chicago Herald" above the headline **AMERICA DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY!!**. Beside this, in a beautiful italic script, was written one word: _yes!, _and then, underneath the article, was another short note, written in the same hand: _about time._ This was very interesting.

I had been beginning to think that these clippings belonged to someone, with a loved one overseas, following the news obsessively- Elizabeth? This last, though, didn't quite support that theory, especially when coupled with the other very handled article. This one dated just a few short weeks before the clippings left off, and bore the title **Draft Lowered to Eighteen**. This title had been underlined twice in pencil, and an exclamation point had been added in to the end of the title, plus the little note, in the same hand as on the other article, of "_yes!_"

Both of these things led me to believe that whoever had been collecting this news had wanted to go to war. I thought about this for a minute, and realized with a jolt that Edward Anthony had been less than a year away from the newly lowered draft when he died. It was looking, then, like these were his clippings. Yes, a young American boy, eager to fight(as many of them had, inexplicably, been), excited when first people of his nationality, and then his (almost) age, had been allowed to fight.

As I sat contemplating this new realization, I still wasn't sure why I was so interested, but I just was. I also realized that the clippings hadn't really given me any idea as to how they had died, which had been the whole point of that exercise. I was, however, pretty positive now that it wasn't in the war. If only Edward(and I was pretty sure now that it was him) had collected clippings about other current events, I was sure they could give me a clue as to how he, and all those other people in the cemetery with the strange, plain crosses, had died.

Well, I realized, Edward's metal box wasn't my only source of old newspapers. Libraries usually took the paper, and kept back issues. whether their archives would date back to 1918, well, there was only one way to find out. Actually, that was probably not strictly true, but I felt like going there in person.

I googled the Chicago Public Library, and was pleased to find that there was a branch that dated from 1905 within walking distance from our house. That was good, because I didn't have access to a vehicle, and I didn't trust myself not to get lost trying to take public transit.

* * *

The library was a low, grey stone building, with a sign over the door that read **CHICAGO PUBLIC LIBRARY - Mapledale Branch**

I pushed open the door, and stepped into the cool, bright interior. Inside, it was everything a library should be - shelves and shelves of books, squashy vinyl armchairs, and colourful posters on the walls advertising children's reading times, contests, and book clubs.

Near the back, there was a circular wooden desk with a sign about it that read "Information". This was staffed by a pretty woman, maybe in her late thirties or early forties, with long, wavy, caramel-coloured hair. She had her head bent over a book, and the name plaque on her desk read "E. Cullen, Librarian".

I approached her desk nervously - I've never been that good at relating to strangers. "Um. . . hello?"

"Hello!" she replied brightly, placing a marker in her book. "How may I help you today? You're new at this library aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah", I replied, wondering how she knew.

"I'm here pretty much full-time", she explained, smiling. "I figured I would have seen you at least once before now." Are you new in town? Would you like a card?"

"Yes, please.", I replied, spending a few minutes in silence filling out the forms she handed me.

"That's all in order then, dear", she said when I handed them back. "I'll have your card ready in about half an hour. Is there anyhting specific you'd like to look at while you wait?"

Here goes. "Um, yeah, I was actually wondering, do you have old issues of the paper?"

"Certainly!", She smiled, looking pleased to be able to help me. she was very friendly, but not overly so, it came very naturally to her. I liked her. "How long ago are we talking about? Yesterday? Last week? June?"

"Ahhh. . .", I laughed nervously. "Nineteen-eighteen, actually."

"You weren't joking when you said old!", but her smile didn't falter. "Of course, it wouldn't make sense for us to keep paper copies from that far back, but our electronic archives date to 1905. Is there a specific date in 1918 you're looking for? And what paper?"

"The Chicago Herald." I'd decided to use the same paper as Edward's records. "And, from the beginning of september, I guess, to maybe early October?"

Understanding lit up her face. "So you're interested in the Spanish Influenza, then? Why didn't you say so?"

"The Spanish Influenza?" That rang a dim bell, from tenth grade history class, in the back of my mind. Social sciences were never my best subject.

"The Flu epidemic at the end of the First World War", she clarified. "Hit Chicago right around the dates you mentioned. It killed more people world-wide than the war did. Of course, you won't find much in the papers, because all the countries involved in the war censored the news, kept them from putting too much about it in the papers, to keep morale up. That's why it's called the Spanish Flu. They were neutral, so free to report the news, and, because of that, everyone thought they were the hardest hit. But, is that not what you're looking for?"

"No, it is, I think." I started babbling, telling mostly the truth. "I just didn't know that it was. I was walking in the cemetery the other day, and I noticed that an awful lot of people died around then, and they also all had the same headstone."

"That would be why,", she replied grimly. "Oftentimes, the 'Flu killed off whole families. They didn't have any close living relatives, so the city just buried them all the with same generic stones, in the best materials that the money the person had left could buy." That explained the variety of stone, then. " A lot of people already had family plots, that's why get a lot of Influenza victims mixed in with older and newer graves. The city did make quite a few new cemeteries as well, though. Now, as I said, there's not much, or at least much that's true, about the epidemic in the old papers, but we've got some excellent books you could look at, if you're interested."

"Y-yes, please."

* * *

I spent a good hour sitting at a table in the back of the library, looking through the stack of books Mrs. Cullen, or - as she had asked me to call her - Esme, had given me, but they didn't really tell me anything that she hadn't already. That's how it had all ended, then. I had no idea what I was thinking had happened to the Masens, but it certainly wasn't this. Just three of the millions of nameless, faceless Influenza victims. It made me unbearably sad to think of all those people with no one to remember them.

When I left the library, I didn't go straight home. Instead, I took a detour to a little grocery store two blocks away, then I walked back to the cemetery.

I stood in front of the plain white marker for an immeasurable moment before I removed the wrappings and placed the six yellow roses I'd bought on Edward Anthony Masen's grave. I'm not sure why I picked him, maybe because he'd been so young, only my age, but it felt right. As I placed the flowers on the grass, I thought I heard a noise behind me. It was very low, and not quite a cough, or a sob, but it seemed filled with emotion, like someone trying to hold back tears. I whipped around, but there was no one there.

_You just imagined it_, I said to myself as I walked back home, but still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone, that I was being watched.

* * *

**Again, thank you for reading chapter four!! I really like this one, for some reason. :D What did you guys think of Esme's little cameo? (Also, just to clarify, she is NOT a vampire)**

**And, was Bella putting flowers on the grave too much? I thought it was really cute, and it becomes semi-important later, but I'm not sure. . .**

**Also, sorry to disappoint those who were hoping for a reappearance of Edward-the-ghost in this chapter, but don't worry, he's coming back soon. :D If I may say so myself, chapter five is possibly the best yet. :D**

**And, as always, I would love it if you would tell me what you thought in a review!! :D**

**(Also, I again sort of invented some historical stuff in this chapter. And the dates aren't all _quite_ accurate, because they didn't work, but they're close)**


	5. Visitor

**AN: First of all, sorry for the long delay!! I've got summatives and stuff right now, so the onyl time I had to write was the weekend. It might be like that for the next little bit, but then it'll be summer, and I'll update more. At least this is the (by far) longest chapter yet to make up for it! And, well, I'll let you figure out the other good thing on your own. And, THANK YOU so muc for the reviews! They really make my day! Please continue to read and review, I really wan tot know what people think of this story! and now, read on!**

* * *

That afternoon, I took a break from my research, obsessive snooping, whatever you want to call it. Part of me was saying that I was finished, what else was there for me to find out? I wasn't even sure what I had been _trying _to find, but I didn't really feel like I had found it. Regardless, I wasn't sure what else there was to look for. I'd found how he'd died, and more or less, who he was.. Wasn't that what I had wanted?

These questions continued to plague me, popping up in my head, as I spent some quality time with Renée that afternoon, trying to coax something green and alive out of the flower beds, as I ate dinner with my parents, and now, as I lay in bed, listening to the night sounds on the cool evening air wafting through my window, waiting for sleep to claim me. It was then, lying there, that I remembered one avenue that I hadn't yet explored. The Journals. Maybe, I decided, if I knew more about this mystery boy, besides the basic statistical facts, it would give me a sense of closure. Ha. Closure. I was talking like I was in a relationship with this Edward, or something!! I needed real, live, human interaction, and to stop dwelling in the past, I decided. But that could wait until after I'd read Edward's journals.

Now that I'd made up my mind to read the journals, though I still felt a bit iffy about actually doing it, I had to resist the temptation to get up and start on them right away.

Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, but it was an uneasy sleep, punctuated by dreams of locked doors, tombstones, and a foggy, bronze-haired boy, always on the periphery, that I could never quite make out.

* * *

My excitement, my desire to know more about this mysterious Edward Masen woke me early - the air coming through my window was still cool and fresh, and the birds were singing as they do only in the early morning. I made myself eat something first, and say a quick goodbye to Charlie as he left for work, before I dashed back up to my room.

I took the thin box from under the cushion of my window-seat, where I was keeping it, and raised the stiff clasp, lifting the lid. The only contents of the box now were the diaries, as I'd moved the collection of battered clippings to one of my desk drawers. Because of this, when I lifted the stack of worn, leather journals from the box, it was the first time that it was completely empty since I discovered it. Except it _wasn't _completely empty.

There was an object in the bottom, an object that had managed to hide every other time I had opened the box. An object that made my heart pound out a loud, thumping, uneven rhythm in my chest. It was small, only a few inches long, the brass finish blackened slightly with age. Most people would find it uninteresting, probably, but to me, the small brass key was the most significant thing in the world at that moment, because I knew exactly what it would open.

* * *

My hand was shaking so much at first that the key rattled against the intricately designed brass plate surrounding the keyhole and the doorknob, preventing it from entering the keyhole. I had to take a deep, calming breath before I was able to ease the key into the lock and turn it. I was rewarded with a dull, muffled, metallic "click", and I turned the handle slowly, easing open the door, and peering for the first time into the room at the end of the hall, that I thought would be forever barred to me.

My first reaction was one of pleasure, the room was beautiful, and I could see that this was the way the house was meant to look. Or, rather, the room _had_ been beautiful, could be beautiful. But, even though a thick layer of dust covered everything, dulling the rich fabrics, and making the wallpaper appear faded and grimy, though the lace curtains were yellowing, and the entire room was in semi-darkness because of the fastened shutters, it could never be called ugly.

It was roughly square, quite similar in design to my room, because it was in the same position in the house, but on the opposite side. the main difference was that this room was lacking a closet, and a door to a bathroom, like mine had. On the wall opposite the door, just like in my room, but closer, because this one was smaller, was a wide, inviting window-seat. The shutters were closed behind the panes of glass, old-fashioned ones that swung inwards, so there was no view, adn the lace curtains were yellowing, the rich cream and blue brocade fabric of the cushions dulled with dust and age, but there was still something beautiful and romantic about it.

All of the walls were covered in a pale wallpaper - it was so dusty, and yellowed with age, that I couldn't tell whether it was white, or cream, or even pale yellow or blue - with denim-blue pinstripes. On the wall to the right of the door was a collage of sorts, more pictures and articles cut out of the newspaper, with a basket on the floor containing a pile of cut-up _Chicago Herald_s. So this had definitely been Edward(?)'s room, I thought. But not his bedroom. Because there were a few more pieces of furniture in the room, but no bed. On the same wall as the door, there was a large mirror, in a simple dark wood frame, and below it, against the wall, a table of the same wood, with a crocheted lace cover, on which rested a silver fountain pen, and a long-since dried-up bottle of ink. On the last wall, there was only a simple framed print of a seascape.

The dominant piece, though, the focus of the room, was in a corner, opposite the door. The upright piano was a rich, dark brown wood colour, and placed diagonally in the corner. A circular stool sat before it, and yellowed sheet music rested in the stand. I moved closer, and noticed that, while some looked like it had been printed, others looked handwritten, as if whoever used this piano had composed his(or her) own music. On top of the piano was more crocheted lace, a runner, and a crystal oil lamp, with a silver box that I presumed held matches, sitting beside it. All of the things in this room, how they were placed, looked as if this room had been in use when it had suddenly been abandoned, but one thing, sitting on top of the piano, hit me harder than the rest. It was a cut crystal vase, similar in style to the lamp. The water had long-since dried up, but it still held several stalks, twigs now, sticking out from the top. Around the base was scattered a thick coating of dust, or dirt, in which the shapes of petals and leaves were still faintly discernible. What a vase of roses looked like, over eighty years later.

This room was steeped in history, in stories. And I held some of them in the three thin leather books in my hand. There was no question as to where I was going to read them. It had to be here, in this room, the room where they had very possibly been written. I crossed over to the window seat and settled down, not caring about the layers of dust accumulated over the decades, only wanted to be in contact with some part of this room, and began to read.

I probably should have looked to see which journal came first, and read in chronological order, but when I picked one up, and the first date was "June 20, 1918", I couldn't stop reading.

If I looked at it objectively, it actually wasn't all that interesting, but it held a strange fascination for me. It told the story of a seventeen year-old boy, with fairly wealthy parents, growing up during the First World War. I found out that he loved to play the piano, that he liked to play baseball and football, but that he didn't have all that many very close friends. I also found out that the dominating passion in his life was the war. He followed the news thoroughly, as I had already suspected, and he bought his own paper every day, with money his father gave him, even though they also had it delivered. This was because, although his father supported his interest in the war, his desire to become a soldier like a "good American boy", his mother was strictly opposed to it. He never mentioned it outright, not wanting to think of the possible consequences of war, I suspected, but I could tell that Elizabeth Masen had been terrified of her only son not coming home. She loved him immensely, and he her, but not enough to give up his dream of the war.

The journals continued like this for a while, just the day-to-day of his life. On August fifteenth, however, I noticed the first hint of something strange.

_Mother has been acting quite oddly of late. Ever since father advised me to have the good sense not to talk about the Great War around her, she has been acting normally towards me, not giving the odd, sad, wistful looks she had been. But this morning, as father was reading his copy of the paper, he pointed something out to her. I didn't see what it was, but she got a pained look on her face, and then I caught her staring at me, like before, when she didn't think I was looking. When I bought my paper later this morning, I looked at the front page to see what could have bothered her, but there was nothing abut the war, just a piece on something in Spain, but they're neutral, so it couldn't have had anything to do with the war._

after this, just one short paragraph, the journal reverted back to normal, and there was no mention of any strange behavior, until eight days later.

_I believe I have discovered why Mother has been acting oddly worried recently. I mentioned today that I heard some of the boys down at the baseball park talking about an Influenza that's supposed to be sweeping the country, even though they do not mention it in the papers. She got all agitated, and said something about how she was sure it would never come to Chicago, and we were all young and healthy anyways, we would be fine, but I wasn't worried, and it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself rather than me._

That was August 23, only eleven days before Edward Sr.'s death. Then, on the twenty-sixth, there was the normal daily entry, and a square of paper inserted into the pages. It looked like a photograph, with the wrong side facing me. This was yellow, on thick paper, and had a line of writing in a hand similar to, but not the same as, Edward's;

_Edward William Masen, Edward Anthony Masen, Elizabeth Masen, August 23, 1918_

I read the journal entry first.

_Mother is constantly telling me not to worry, and I wouldn't be, if not for her behavior. The other day, she took us all to get a photographic portrait taken, she said, "just because it would be nice to have an up-to-date one", but I can tell it's because she thinks the time is running short. Her worry is making me worry, and I asked her to give me this copy to preserve in my journal. I'm not worried for myself, I'm young and strong, but Mother has always been slightly fragile._

I picked up the photograph then, and turned it over. It was in tones of sepia, and featured three people, clearly related. The woman and man were standing up, and a teenaged boy was sitting on a stool in front of them. The man had a neutral expression, as people couldn't smile in photographs back then, but his face still looked good-humored. The woman didn't look ill-tempered, exactly, but her face was much more somber. Worrying, I realized.

The boy was different. His face was slightly blurred around the mouth, as if he had been holding his expression neutral for the picture, but had thought of something funny and couldn't stop from smiling. he looked alive, and happy, and his image had a very different quality from that of his parents. He was also quite handsome. But it wasn't any of these things that caused me to let out a shocked gasp. Because, even if his image was slightly blurry, the boy in the photo was completely, unmistakably, the same boy whose image I had _thought_ I'd dreamed my first night here.

Even while I'd been consumed with curiosity over E. Masen, I'd tried to put it out of my mind. _They're not connected_, I had told myself. But now it was slapping me in the face, hitting me over the head. I forced my gaze away from the photograph, hoping that, if I looked away, the uncanny resemblance would only have been a trick of the light, and Edward would look different when I looked back. I looked up, away from the photo, across the room, and just barely stopped from screaming.

Across the room from me, lounging against the wall by the door, was a tall, lanky boy, in old-fashioned clothes, with strange, bronze-coloured hair. And he was, no mistaking it, identical to the boy I'd seen my first night, identical to the boy in the photo I was still holding in my clenched, frozen hand.

"So you've finally decided to notice me, have you? I was worrying I'd become permanently invisible!"

My first crazy thought was _it talks._ And then I regained the power of speech. "Who are you?", I almost shouted.

He laughed, and I was momentarily lost in the beautiful sound of it. "Take a wild guess", he gestured to the photo in my hand.

"But you can't be Edward Masen." It came out like a question.

"Then who, or what, do you propose I am?", he queried, with an amused half-smile.

"A figment of my imagination.", I proclaimed.

He raised one eyebrow. "That's the only possibility?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

Because you're dead!!"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean I'm a figment of your imagination."

"Then what are you?", I challenged.

"Well,", he mused in a mockingly solemn tone, "I've been throwing around terms for the past few decades. Wandering spirit, Imprint of a departed soul, but I find plain old "ghost" works as well as anything." He grinned at me.

"You can't be a ghost." I tried to sound sure, but I just didn't know anymore. My head was spinning. My world was upside-down. Everything I'd believed to be true, he was forcing me to question. My mind rejected it, to preserve my sanity.

"And why is that?" He looked mock-offended now.

"Because ghosts don't exist!"

He shook his head. "Oh, that's where you're wrong. But don't worry, Miss. Swan, I'll make a believer out of you yet."

That distracted me. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm around. I hear things." He shrugged.

"You're spying on me?!" The idea of being watched by someone I couldn't see gave me the chills.

"What, so you're the only one who is permitted to snoop?", he asked, with a significant glance at the books in my lap. Then he added, " By the way, thank you for the flowers. It was touching. The fact that there was no-one to remember us has always made my mother sad, but it's never bother me. But I found I liked it. Thank you."

"N-no problem." There wasn't anything else I could think to say.

"That's what convinced me to trust you, you know. So many people have come through this house, and most of them have seen me. I always show myself from time to time. Just for a bit of fun," he smiled mischievously. "Eternity can get tedious. But none of them ever cared to investigate further. And then you came. You seemed to really care. But I still didn't know if I could trust you. The flowers made me sure, and I was hoping that you'd be able to help me."

"Help you?"

"Yes. If you're willing, of course." he added apologetically. "That's why I decided to come here today. In all the times I've appeared to people here, you're the first person I've let see me in the day. And who I've talked to."

"I'm honored." I decided sarcasm was the best way to mask the multitude of things- questions, feeling, confusion - circulating in my head. "But wait. Help you how? What do you need help with?"

"Well. . .", he replied, and he seemed uncomfortable."As you can see, I'm a ghost. What do you know about ghosts?"

"That they don't exist." I answered stubbornly. I still didn't know what to believe.

"Right." he smiled wryly. "Well, I'll tell you then, if you won't cooperate. What I've found out, from talking to others, is that we're here for a reason. Something didn't go right in our human lives. There was something we were supposed to achieve, maybe. Usually though, it's because we were unhappy in some way, or we are unhappy with something that happened, or didn't happen, when we are alive. Some ghosts just need to work things out, come to terms, be at peace, to cross over. But I've heard of others that had to change things. In their past. But we can't influence our own past." He was very serious now. "We need help. The difficult part is, that most spirits know what it is they need to change. I don't. I was happy. I am happy, well, as happy as a ghost can be.", he smiled a sad smile. "I don't see why I can't leave. I need help to figure that out. And help to get it done."

"And you think I can help you?"

"Maybe. I've heard that other spirits got a feeling about their humans, and, well, you just seemed to care so much. . ." he trailed off. "I know it's asking a lot. You don't have to if you don't want to."

But I did, although "I don't know how. I don't know what you need." I ventured.

"I can help you figure it out", he encouraged.

"how?"

He had moved closer during our conversation, and now he was close enough to touch, if such a thing were even possible. "Let me introduce you to myself." He waited, and, as I didn't seem to object, he took my hand.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading!! I hope you liked this chapter, and the reappearance of Edward!! Yays! And now you all see where the title comes from. :D I hope this isn't a cliffie ending, and if it is, trust me, it's a lot better than what I was considering, I was debating stopping right when she sees Edward. :)**

**Again, thank you for reading, sorry for the wait, and please review!!!**

**P.s. I'm not sure whether I like this chapter or not. There were so many things I wanted to be said in the Edward conversation, and I'm not sure if I fit them all in. But I do quite enjoy Edward. :)  
**

**-SkySong  
**


	6. A walk down memory lane

**A new chapter already! Aren't I nice? :P JK. Thank you, again, to everyone who reviewed last chapter and this story! You make my day, you really do. :D I hope you like this one. I know it's a bit short, and the conversation isn't developed much, but they did just meet! There'll be more later, I promise! And now, enough of the cryptic weird clues, read on!**

* * *

It wasn't like how people usually describe it in books. I didn't feel like I was falling down, or flying up, or surrounded by a rush of colour and sound.

Everything went very quiet, and I felt myself pulled forward by an irresistible force, even though Edward's hand really didn't have any substance. We glided through the doorway of the piano room, out through the hall of my house, downstairs, and out the door. But as we moved, the house didn't stay the same. Paint flashed on and off the walls, furniture disappeared and reappeared, getting more outdated every time. I even caught flashes of people walking through doorways, down halls - people who weren't my parents.

Then we were out the door, flying through the streets of Chicago. People walked, drove, and rode, up and down the streets, but backwards and sped up, like rewinding a film, and extremely fast. Their clothing, too, grew more outdated as we went along, the cars as well. I knew, somehow, that they couldn't see me.

Everything got progressively older-looking as we flew down the streets, and when I was abruptly set down, everyone was wearing clothes like those I had seen in films set during WW1, and I even caught a glimpse of a horse-drawn carriage turning the corner up ahead. 1918, I would bet anything.

I was in a busy street, not exactly sure where in town it was, as everything looked so different. Wooden and brick buildings lined the streets, mostly shops, though I could see a few that looked like houses. I was standing on a wooden sidewalk, right in front of a newsagent's with striped awnings, surrounded by people.

It was around then, when I got over the shock of suddenly being transported to 1918, that I panicked. I couldn't be in 1918! What would they think of a girl wearing denim shorts and a purple tank top standing in their midst?! But then I took a breath, and realized that no one was giving me funny looks. So was I invisible, then?

Just then, a man in a light suit who had been walking directly at me, swerved to avoid me, and touched his hat, nodding. Acknowledging my presence. So I wasn't invisible, then. I looked down, and realized that, while everything around me had been changing, so had I. I was now wearing a floaty, cream-coloured blouse tucked into a long, dark-blue skirt, and my hair was done up in braids.

I turned my head, then, to ask Edward how in the world he had done that, and realized he wasn't there. I whipped my head around to the other side, then frantically behind me. I searched the crowd in vain, but didn't see his peculiar bronze hair anywhere. Where had he gone?

Just then, a polite voice spoke from behind me. "Excuse me, Miss, are you lost?"

People were so polite back then, or, _now_, I thought with a shock. "Uh, no, just loo-", I started to say, but I turned around, to face the good samaritan who had asked, and it wasn't true anymore. "just new." I finished with a smile, turning to face him head on. That was easier than I'd hoped.

"You're new in town?" He smiled warmly.

"Yes. We just arrived, and I'm trying to get acquainted, but it's awfully confusing. . ."

"I could help, if you like. My name is Edward Masen, if you are in need of a tour guide?" Perfect.

"Yes, thank you! That would be lovely, if you have the time." I smiled and held out my hand. "I'm Isabella Swan", I added.

He surprised me then, by not taking my hand and shaking it as I had intended, but holding it delicately in his, and bringing it to his lips. "It's lovely to meet you, Miss Swan."

"A-and you" Was all I managed to get out.

"I was on my way to get the paper", he told me, smiling, and gesturing to the shop in front of us. "But I'll just be a moment, and then I could show you around, if you would like? Whereabouts are you living, what would you like to see?"

I was about to tell him my address, but then I realized that it would be the same as his, so I quickly changed my story. "I'm not actually living here, we're just visiting an aunt for a few weeks. I'm actually not sure of her address, but I remember the way back. I don't really need to know where things are, I'd just love to see the city. It's very beautiful, and I'm used to a much smaller town", I gushed, hoping it was convincing. What I really wanted was time to talk with him, to start to find out for him what he needed me to do.

* * *

People were a lot more friendly in 1918, I mused, as, less than ten minutes later, I was walking down a quiet street with Edward. It was very similar to the streets around my house, back in my time, more similar than I would have thought possible. The only real difference was that there were less cars, and they looked like, well, they were from 1918! so did the few people we passed. I had snuck a peak at Edward's paper when he bought it, and I saw that it was July 20th, 1918. Exactly the same as the date in my time, just many years earlier.

Up until this point, he had done most of the talking, telling me about the city, but now I needed to ask _him_ questions, in order to be able to start helping him. I decided to begin with the things I already knew, because they were easy, and he needed to know I knew them. "So, you walk into town to get the paper every day?" I asked, trying to seem like I was just making casual conversation.

"Yes, every day." He answered, and there was that lovely, friendly smile again. "I like to keep up with the news."

"Why don't you just get it delivered?" I asked innocently. "Wouldn't that be easier?"

"Well," he began, looking slightly uncomfortable, "My parents do get it delivered. But I like to follow the war news, and my mother. . doesn't really approve. She doesn't want me to go. Father doesn't mind, he's proud. But Mother gets upset, so I don't like to make it too obvious what I'm doing."

"Oh. You're planing on joining up? Are you old enough?"

"No." He flushed slightly, "Not yet. I just turned seventeen in June." He admitted, "But I hear that they might lower the draft to eighteen soon. And who knows how long the war will go on for?"

_I_ knew, that was who, but of course, I just answered "yes, who knows?"

* * *

We walked like that for a while, I'm not sure how long, just talking. We talked about our families (I made a lot of things up), and Edward told me more about his city. We didn't get too personal yet, after all - even though it felt like I'd known him much longer - we'd really only just met. I found myself wanting to know more, not just so I could help him, but because I was genuinely interested, and, on some level, I realized that that was dangerous, but I put it out of my mind. It was just so _nice, _walking in the sunlight with Edward, talking.

Too soon, I heard a voice in my ear, quiet and musical. "I think it's time to go now, Isabella"

I looked up at the sky then, because I wasn't wearing a watch, pretending I could tell what time it was from the position of the sun. "Oh! It's getting late, my family will really be wondering where I've got to!"

"Of course," He replied, but he looked sad to see me go as well. "Will I see you again, Miss Swan?"

"Cal me Isabella, please," I smiled. Isabella just seemed to suit this time better. "And yes, I would like that very much, if you don't mind."

"You know where to find me," he smiled. "Do you need help getting back?"

"No, I'm fine," I replied, and, with that, I was speeding away from him, but forwards now rather than back.

* * *

**Thank you, again, for reading, and please, as always, review! (Also, I do try to reply to every review, because I appreciate them all, and I try to answer questions. But I can't reply if they're not signed!)**

**-SkySong :)**


	7. A plan

**So, I know I promised this on saturday, sorry! I went to see a movie with a friend and didn't end up having time. Also, let's get all the apologies out of the way, I'm sorry this is so short. It's kind of a connector, it's necessary, but not all that long. And then, Thank you!! to my wonderful reviewers!! They really do make my day, and I really appreciate them. If you like this story, please take the time to review. I love getting them, and it motivates me to write, because, as my friends know, I'm horrible at saying no to/ disappointing people who are nice to me. :D **

* * *

In less time than I would have thought possible, considering how far I had travelled, I was back exactly where I had been, sitting exactly the same, the only difference was I was considerably more out of breath. Edward was there, just in front of me, appearing, I'm sure, much less worse for wear after our sojourn through time than I was. I must have looked very confused, because his face turned apologetic. "I'm sorry I had to pull you away like that, I hope I didn't frighten you. You handled it very well." he smiled. "But your mother was wondering where you'd got to, and I couldn't have her coming up here looking."

"So you were here, then", I started to say, as I'd been wondering whether he'd been with me, just invisible, but then I realized something off about what he'd said. "Wait, how did you know she was wondering where I was?"

"I hear things." He smiled mysteriously.

"But Charlie's not here right now", I protested. "She doesn't talk to herself."

"I hear things." He repeated simply.

Something dully clicked into place. "Wait. . . are you trying to tell me you can. . hear thoughts?"

He smiled sheepishly, and nodded, one small head bob. He definitely wasn't prepared for my reaction.

"What?", I gasped "No!" I frantically tried to remember everything I'd been thinking when I was around him. "Why didn't you warn me, Edward Masen?! That's a dirty trick!"

"No", he reassured me in a calm tone "don't worry, I-"

"What did you hear?" I snarled, cutting him off.

"Nothing!" He protested, affronted by my hostile behavior.

"_Exactly_ what did you hear, Edward Masen? I think you may have a slightly different definition of _nothing_ than I do."

"No, I promise you", he pleaded. I glared. "When I say nothing, I mean _nothing. _Isabella, I can't hear you."

My first stupid reaction to that was, "What do you mean? I'm not saying anything."

He spoke very slowly then, and clearly, like he was explaining a difficult concept to a first-grader "Bella, I can't hear you. At all. I don't know why, and it's never happened before, but I can't hear your mind. Not a peep." He smiled at the look of confusion on my face.

"You can't hear me?"

"truly, no. And I have no idea why. I've never had any trouble before, with ghosts or humans." speaking of which, your mother is coming up here to check on you momentarily, so can we relocate to your bedroom?"

"Oh, yes, right!" I exclaimed. I t was so easy to lose myself in our own little world talking to Edward, even after I'd only known him for a day. I quickly gathered up my things; Edward's journals, and the key, and walked out of the room, carefully shutting and locking it behind me. When I turned, he was less than a foot away from me, floating eerily a few inches off the ground, and looking apologetically at the load in my arms.

"I'm sorry", he said "I'd offer to help you with those, but it really wouldn't be much help." And then he reached towards me, as if to lay his hand on my arm, but instead it sunk right through. It felt like nothing at all to have Edward's hand in my arm, and then it was on the other side, and he was smiling at my apologetically. "As you see, I can't make physical contact with things of the livi-" but then he stopped, as we both heard footsteps on the stairs, and, to my utter amazement, disappeared.

Not a second too soon either, as just then, Renée walked through the door. "Oh, there you are, Bella! I was wondering where you'd got to! What have you been doing up here all this time?" All this time? I must've been gone longer than I'd thought.

"Just reading, Mom", I said, patting the journals in my lap, and hoping against hope that she wouldn't realize that they weren't your average paperback book. "Alright honey, you have fun! but maybe try and get outside later, it's a lovely day!"

I held back my eyeroll at that, focused only on getting her out of there so I could question Edward on where on earth he'd gone. "'Kay Mom". and with that, luckily, she smiled and left.

"_Edward?_", I hissed as soon as she was out of earshot.

"Yes?" He laughed, materializing in front of me.

"How do you _do_ that?" I asked incredulously.

"I've told you before that I can become invisible, I'm sure?"

"Um, no. You definitely haven't. I would remember something like that, I think."

"I'm sure I have," he repeated obstinately. "Regardless, what self-respecting ghost can't become invisible? Most of us choose not to be seen _all_ of the time, my mother, for instance. . ." he trailed off.

That struck a dim bell of something he had hinted at earlier. "Your mother's. . . like you? Your father as well?"

"No," he replied. "Just her and me."

Then a thought struck me. "You don't need me to help her too, do you? To . . . cross over, I mean?"

"No," he smiled reassuringly. "I already know why she cannot cross over."

"But," I hesitated, wanting to know, but already worried about being able to complete the one task he had asked of me. "Doesn't she need help getting it done?"

"Not exactly. You see, she always worried about me, wanted me to be happy. She won't be able to leave here until I do. Which," he continued, while I sat there open-mouthed, "is why I took the trouble to seek you out. I'm not all that concerned with crossing over for myself. But I want her to be able to." I was speechless for a moment, touched by his sentiment, and he had to break me out of my reverie. ". . .speaking of which, was meeting me today any help? Do you know what we need to do?"

"I think I've got an idea," I replied, "but I want to investigate more. I'm going to read the rest of these," I held up his journals, "And I'll probably need to ask you questions. Is that alright?"

"Of course," he replied. "Whatever you need."

* * *

I spent the rest of the afternoon cloistered in my room with Edward, reading his journals, and occasionally throwing a random question at him. I learned all about the him that afternoon, his interests; baseball, piano, science, his friends; few, and his family; intensely loving and supportive. I especially asked him questions about his interests. Had he ever wanted to play baseball professionally? Was there a famous pianist he had admired? And every answer drew me back to the same conclusion that had been brewing in my mind.

Finally, I couldn't deny it anymore, it was plain there was only the one reasonable answer. "Edward," I said "I think I've got it." actually, I was sure.

"What is it?"

"Edward, you're going to war."

* * *

**So there you have it! Chapter seven! Bella has a bit of a freak out, and we learn more about Edward (which I love, BTW :D). Thank you for reading, and please review!! My goal is to have 50 by chapter 10, so please help me reach it!! **

**Thank you!  
**

**SkySong**


	8. You weren't supposed to

**Another chapter already? Aren't I nice? Haha, just kidding. (but, hint hint, if you like all the frequent updates, how bouts you review?) :P So this is another little short chapter. I realize now that these probably could have been lumped together, especially this and chapter seven, but I A) wanted to get you guys another chapter, and B) am evil so wanted to leave it on a cliffie. :) This one definitely needs to end where it does though, so you get this short, quick update, and then the next chapter will maybe come next weekend. And then, a huge thank you, as always to all my reviewers! I can't say enough how much I love them. :D**

* * *

Now it was Edward's turn to look shocked and confused. "No. . . it can't be"

"Edward, what else is there? You had no other ambitions, I've been looking all afternoon! Don't tell me this never occurred to you? It's the only thing that makes any sense!"

"It. . .did," he mused, staring abstractedly into space, "But I got over it! I made myself get over it. It doesn't bother me anymore. . ." he rationalized, but I could also see that there was a part of him that wanted it to be that simple.

I also wanted it to be that simple, but, apart from that, I just couldn't see any other option. I'd thought of what he was saying, and I changed my tack, modifying and refining my theory. "Ok, so maybe you are over it. But maybe that's not why you can't leave. You said sometimes spirits can't move on because there was something that they were supposed to achieve, but didn't. You must have been supposed to go! Edward," I pled, but I had the feeling of convincing myself as much as him, "it's the only thing that makes sense!"

I could see he was considering me now. He had to, my logic was watertight. But then his expression changed, and I could see something new was occurring to him. "That would make sense, Bella, but. . ."

"But what?"

"But I wouldn't actually go to war. Setting aside the issue of my age - I assume you were going to have me lie?" he queried, and I nodded. "The war is almost over. It's July. There's less than four months. I wouldn't go straight over, I'd be at a training camp first. That can't be it. I'd never make it there."

I hadn't considered that. But he was right. Unless. . . "Maybe, " I began, formulating a new idea as I spoke, "Ok, you're right. You wouldn't go. But maybe that's not actually what you were supposed to do. Maybe. . . it's not something you were supposed to do. Maybe it's something you _weren't_ supposed to do."

"Like what?" he sighed, and I could tell he thought I was grasping at straws.

"Die." I responded simply. "You weren't supposed to die." I said again, with more conviction. "You had so much talent, so much promise. You could have done great things. You were meant to survive, but the plan went awry. And now I have to fix it."

"And what does that have to do with going to war?"

"You get out of Chicago before the epidemic hits. You're somewhere else, and the conditions are different. You survive."

"I've . . . never heard of changing something that. . . big before," He began, but I could tell he liked my plan. "But it does make sense." Then he became all business. "How were you planning on achieving this?"

"Simple." I smiled. "I'll keep going back. Get to know you, befriend you, and gain your trust. Then, after a time, I'll propose that you lie and enlist."

"You know, " he said, "that there are so many things that could go wrong with that plan? But I like it. I guess you won't need my help much anymore, will you?" he mused.

"Of course not! I was quick to reassure. Partly because he seemed like the type of person who hated to be useless, and partly because I didn't wan it to be true either, which I realized, again, was very dangerous. "I'll still need you to take me back, and tell me how I'm doing. His reaction to me, I mean. You _can_ read_ his_ mind, right?"

"Actually, no."

"What?" That was an unexpected snag. "But you said I was-"

"The only ghost or human whose mind I couldn't hear," he interrupted. "I can't hear his, because he doesn't exist in the same context as I do. That's why I can't stay with you when you're there either. I belong to any time after I died. And that part of myself belongs to any time before I died. But don't worry," he reassured me, seeing my anxious expression, "I can still help with his reactions. We're the same person, but different versions. Everything that he remembers, thinks, and feels, belongs to me. Because he is my past. But the things I remember, think, feel, and know, belong only to me. As his present changes, so does my past. I can't hear what he's thinking about you. But I can remember it."

I struggled to wrap my mind around the impossible concepts he was describing. It was all so surreal. "So, how did I do? What did he. .you" I still wasn't sure which pronoun was appropriate, "think of me today?"

He smiled. "I was captivated by you. I found you unlike anyone I'd ever met, and I am anxious to see you again. I'll wait by the newspaper stand much longer than normal tomorrow, if necessary, to see you."

"So I'm going back tomorrow?"

"Yes," he answered "I think it's best if we put this plan in motion straight away. I should leave now, though. Allow you to be human for a time. I'll be back tomorrow morning. The same time." And with that, he smiled and was gone.

* * *

It was very hard, and very odd, to get back into normal life after my very abnormal day, but I realized it was something i would have to get used to. It looked like I'd be doing this a lot.

I was, hopefully, relatively normal as I ate dinner with my parents, and spent some quality time with them. They seemed happy, and, with a pang, I realized I'd been withdrawn lately, absorbed in my personal mystery. I vowed that, these next few weeks, along with helping Edward, I would try to spend more time with Renée and Charlie.

* * *

The next morning, I woke early, and was unable to settle to anything, waiting for Edward. I told myself that this was purely because of the mystery he presented, but my self had trouble believing.

Finally, as I was lying on my bed trying to lose myself in Jane Austen's elegant banter, I heard a quiet cough behind me, and there he stood. "Are you ready?" I nodded, and he stepped up and took my hand again, pulling me through time once again.

* * *

**There you have it. :) And next chapter, back to the past. And a little note to add: I'm contemplating (actually, I've started one) doing a few little Cullen couples "origins" one-shots (example, Rosalie POV as she saves Emmett), what do you guys think? Should I? Would you read and review?? :D**

**And then, here's where I say reeeeeeview!!!!! reeeeeeeview!!!!! (I doing a crazy ghost impression right now. It's great. :D) I see all you adding me to your alerts and favs (thank you :D) Now review!!!!! :D**

**Always thank you,**

**SkySong**


	9. Edward, Casper and Me

**Disclaimer(this is true for every chapter before and after this one as well): I do not own anything from twilight. It's all Stepenie Meyer.**

**AN: Hello my lovely readers and reviewers!! Sorry for the slow-ish, and short update. I wasn't really sure what needed to happen in this chapter, but the next ones I'm clearer on, and I think that they'll hopefully be longer. Just a little heads up, this story is (sort of) drawing to a close. I predict about four more chapters. I also want to do something from Edward's POV later, but I think I might add it in as a companion one-shot after this story is done. But, if anyone's sad to see the end of this, I am kicking around ideas for a sequel. Would you guys like that? So, without further ado, read on!**

* * *

I appeared in the same spot that Edward had brought me to yesterday, but it must have been slightly later, or Edward was earlier, I couldn't tell for sure, as I saw his back heading into the newsagent's just as I arrived. I glanced down at my attire and saw that my clothing had, again, been transformed to that of an earlier time, though today my blouse was styled slightly differently, and crisp, pure white.

Even though it was the second time, I still couldn't help taking in my surroundings wonderingly. I had a feeling that jumping backwards almost ninety years just isn't something you can get used to.

When my eyes were finished taking in the transformed Chicago street, Edward was coming out of the shop, paper in hand, and when he saw me, his face split into a dazzling smile. "Ms. Swan," he greeted me, easily closing the distance between us in a few long strides. He raised my right hand again to his lips, like yesterday, but without me offering it. "It's lovely to see you again. I was hoping I might."

I smiled in response. He was so charming, but I could tell it wasn't put on, he was so sincere. "I told you that you'd see me again. And please, call me Isabella."

"If you wish, Isabella," he smiled impishly, "but you must call me Edward as well."

* * *

He lead me off into a different part of town, but today he mostly told me about people, as we were near his neighborhood. He would point out houses, and tell me about their inhabitants. The big victorian-looking brick house where lived Mrs. Thomas, who looked strict, but was really an old softie; the green wooden one home to a pair of impish, sandy-haired twin eight-year-old boys, Henry and Harry; he told me all about his neighbors, growing very animated. he enjoyed this, talking to people, telling them stories, I realized, and remembered sadly from his journals that he didn't have many friends.

We continued like that for a while, I thought it would be best to go slowly, not try and get any personal information out of him too quickly, just gain his trust, develop a friendship.

After what seemed like a long time, but also not long enough, I heard a voice in my ear. "I'm going to start wondering why you're able to stay with me this long, and get curious. Say your goodbyes Bella, and let's get you home."

"How did I do today?" I asked Edward once we were back in my twenty-first century bedroom.

"Very well," he said. You're a good listener. I never really connected to people all that well, but I love talking to you."

"I'm glad." I smiled. "The plan's going well, then?"

"Yes, so it would seem. The same time tomorrow?"

"That's fine with me," I said. I was getting wrapped up in this plan. "If it won't make him suspicious, my being there so much?"

"No," he answered "I love talking to you."

* * *

We continued that way for the rest of the week, walking and talking every day. We started talking about ourselves a little bit more every day, and by the start of the next week, he didn't even bother to go through the show of talking about houses and people, we just talked about ourselves. Our families, our hobbies - he told me all about his piano, books we'd read. We also discussed the war. I helped guide the conversations there at first, but once he realized that I was interested, he would bring it up himself, when he was sure he wouldn't be boring or offending me.

I was surprised to find that he didn't really have any delusions about the war, other than a soldier's glory. This came up one day, a few weeks after we'd met, it was almost the start of August, when we were talking about the causes of the war. "I know that it's all about conquest. And neither party is really in the wrong. I think that it's sad that it happened, but it needs to be finished, and I wouldn't want to be on the losing end of it." And so he astounded me again with his wisdom, his maturity. I wondered who, other than me, really knew Edward Masen.

I tried to drop hints once in a while about him enrolling, but I also learned that he was pretty firm when it came to rules, and, although I'm sure he wouldn't admit it, deep down, a little scared. I tried to talk about it, but it was so easy to get sidetracked by Edward, the enchanting stories he told, the magnetic force of his personality, his deep, sparkling green eyes.

* * *

Edward and I, the other Edward - who I had nicknamed Casper(that had taken a bit of explaining - apparently ghosts don't watch TV) to avoid my confusion and exasperation - also talked frequently, late-night, after my parents were asleep, planning sessions. We discussed how I was gaining Edward(not Casper)'s trust, if he was starting to consider joining up (He reported little progress on this front, and I vowed to step up my efforts), and things like that. We also got sidetracked, though, as Casper was just as interesting, if not more, than his past self.

* * *

**Again, sorry for the shortness, and I hope it's good. There was more I could have put in, but I wanted to get this up here for you, because it might be a while before I can update again, exams are almost upon me! You'll get more E&B interaction in the next chapter, this is really just a little bridge/ filler, I hope I did it well enough! As always, I LOVE reviews, so please review!!! And, you may have seen, I've started another story, which is a canon Emmett/Rosalie one called _When you get to keep and angel with you_, and starting with Emmett and the bear, and I'd love it if you would check it out!**

**Thanks!**

**SkySong. :)**


	10. He's gone

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. End of story. :P**

**AN: So, I've decided you should probably just ignore any time frames I set for the next updates. Because they are always wrong. At least this one is on the fortunate side of wrong!! A lot sooner than I said! :) (you know how you should thank me? Review. Don't make me do my ghost impression again! :P) So, yes, this is the next chapter! I like it, that's all I'll say. :) So, read on!  
**

* * *

The days slipped by, and I was having a better summer than I'd ever had, a better summer than I ever could have dreamt of having. By the beginning of the third week with Edward and Casper - we were coming into August now - my days had fallen into a pleasant rhythm. I woke late in the mornings, because of late nights talking with Casper, and then Casper would bring me back into the past, where I'd spend most of the morning with Edward. Then I'd come back to my real life. I hadn't forgotten the vow I'd made to myself, and I tried to spend more time with Renée, helping her put finishing touches on the house and gardens, but my mind was often elsewhere, back in nineteen-eighteen.

* * *

If I ever stopped to take stock of the time, the summer was flying by at an amazing rate, and it was already the second week in August as I sat with Edward one morning on a bench under a willow in the public park. We'd been meeting almost daily for over a month now, and we'd almost stopped the show of walking around altogether. This bench had become our spot. We were becoming closer and closer, talking about everything. This thought brought me face to face with something I'd been trying to avoid. I was getting along so well with Edward, but Casper seemed to be almost. . avoiding me? He came every morning like always to bring me back, but he seemed more distant than before, reserved, not the light-hearted joking friend I remembered. He still came some nights, but not all of them, as before, and he never stayed as long. He kept it strictly business, not the long talks we'd had about everything and anything before, just asking me about our progress. I sighed involuntarily. I couldn't figure out what was wrong, and I was sure he wouldn't tell me.

"Isabella?" inquired Edward's soft, musical, and, at the moment, slightly concerned, voice.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking about something." I smiled apologetically. "What was it you were saying?"

And with that, I was wrapped back up in our conversation. We were talking about music today. I knew some classical - Renée liked to play it - but Edward was a veritable font of information on the subject. Right now, he was trying to explain to me one of his favourite pieces, one of Chopin's lesser-known nocturnes, but he couldn't get it right. He whistled a few bars again, ad shook his head. Then his eyes lit up. "Could I play it for you?" he asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

"On my piano." he clarified when I looked confused. "My home is just around the corner, and my mother would love to meet you. I've told them all about you." he admitted shyly.

"Alright," I agreed, somewhat shyly, but eager for any plan he suggested. Bad, bad, Bella! I scolded myself, but then told myself to shut up.

He was up from the bench in one fluid motion, and offering his hand to help me up. I didn't really need it, but took it anyway. When we were both standing, he held out his arm for me, and I took it. We'd started doing this a few weeks ago, and it felt right, and natural. It was common enough back then, I told myself. I'd seen fathers walking this way with their daughters, or brothers and sisters. That was all it was. Friendship. I tried to ignore the way it felt when he touched me, when he kissed my hand every morning in greeting. I refused to think about how easy it would be for me to develop a crush on him, or the possibility that I already had. That was not an option. I was here to help him, and only that. I _would _ignore me.

We were approaching his house now - my house. He must have caught me staring, it was, again, so hard to wrap my head around. "Do you like it?" he inquired as we climbed the few shallow steps to the porch and front door. As opposed to the mess of boxes and a few odd gardening tools that still cluttered this porch back in my time, it swept, neat, and pretty now. Bathed in golden sunlight, with a whicker rocking chair at the far end, and a pretty wooden hanging porch swing just to the right of the door.

He was holding open the wooden screen door, which was painted a soft, faded blue, for me now, and I stepped over the threshold of my own home, almost ninety years before we'd bought it. It was a strange feeling. I heard a soft click, and he was standing beside me in the bright entranceway. "Edward?" a melodic woman's voice called from somewhere upstairs, "is that you, dear?"

He made a face at that last word, and I had to press my lips together to keep from smiling. "Yes, mother. Would you mind coming downstairs? I have someone to introduce you to."

I felt my face redden slightly at those last words, and he smiled at me reassuringly. I both loved and hated the tone of that smile. _Not allowed!!!_ I screamed at myself in my head.

Just then, a woman descended the stairs. Her hair, piled in a soft knot on the top of her head, was the exact same colour as Edward's, as were her eyes. she was dressed in a similar style as I always was when I came here, but her skirt was a lovely deep green, complementing her eyes. She was classically pretty, and had a kind face, but she also looked kind of anxious, stressed. I realized with a shock that she was probably already worried about the Influenza, and thought for what seemed like the hundredth time today that I really needed to hurry up with the plan. It was just so easy to get sidetracked around Edward.

"Mother," said Edward, when Mrs. Masen had reached us, "this is Isabella Swan, who I was telling you about." He gestured towards me.

"It's lovely to meet you, Isabella," She greeted me warmly, "Edward has told us so much about you." the object of her statement made a face behind her back, and I had to work hard not to laugh.

"I'm glad to meet you too, Mrs. Masen." I replied shyly.

"Please, call me Elisabeth," she smiled.

Edward interrupted our somewhat awkward interruptions then, "Mother, I was going to show Isabella my piano, if that's alright?"

"Play for her?" Mrs. Masen asked. "That's fine. You two go up, I'll bring some refreshments by in a moment."

* * *

Edward's piano room looked almost the exact same as in my time, except there was much less dust, the flowers weren't dead, and the shutters were open.

We sat in there for a while, me on the window seat, and him playing for me, not talking very much, me just listening, and him absorbed in his music. I could tell he loved it. I was absorbed too, in _him_ and would have gladly stayed there for hours, until the chiming of a grandfather clock downstairs reminded me of the time. "Oh! It's getting late Edward, I really should go. This was lovely, though, you play beautifully."

He walked me to the door, and then, as soon as I was around the corner, his double met me. "There you are. I though I was going to have to come in to get you!" The words sounded like they should be teasing, but his tone wasn't quite right, and his expression was unfathomable. As soon as I was back safely home, he disappeared.

* * *

I sat in my room for a time after I got back, not even realizing what I was doing until I came to a conclusion. As I thought about the day, and these past weeks, I noticed something more than I had consciously realized before. I had noticed, somewhere in my mind, that, as the weeks went by, Edward and I talked about the war less and less. But now, as I sat here, mulling things over, a new pattern became evident to me.

For the first week or so, after he had realized I was interested, Edward would bring it up himself all the time, and I would just have to help keep the conversation going. Then he didn't bring it up as much, but would still talk when I did. But in these past few weeks, not only did he hardly ever mention it anymore, but he would change the subject soon after if I ever brought it up. It wasn't as if he was embarrassed, he just didn't seem interested in it anymore. I wasn't sure how, but, somehow, I had caused Edward to lose interest. It was my fault. _That_, I realized, must be why Casper was acting oddly. I could time his slowly escalating distancing from me exactly with Edward's losing interest. He was upset that I was failing. Who wouldn't be? It was such a simple task!! Only _I _could mess it up.

I was abruptly furious with myself. This wasn't something I was allowed to mess up! And it was all my fault. Secretly, I hadn't minded that we talked about the war less and less, wanting to prolong my time with Edward. And I was ruining everything! This wasn't something trivial that didn't matter! This was somebody's afterlife! Two people's afterlives, actually! Edward had every right to be furious with me.

But I would change. I vowed to myself that, starting tomorrow, I would push away my feelings. I would apologize to Casper, promise him that I would try harder, and then I _would_ try harder. I would make Edward listen to me, force him to enlist if I had to. To save his life!

* * *

The next morning, I woke early, anxious to start my new plan,but also apprehensive. I spent all morning in my room, waiting for Casper very impatiently and going over what I was going to say to both of them.

The minutes dragged by, but it was finally ten o'clock. He was always here at almost exactly ten every day, without fail, unless we had discussed it the previous night. I tried to busy myself with writing an email to one of my few friends back in Phoenix, and that took me to 10:15. By then, I was seriously worried. By eleven, I was prowling the house, calling for him in whispers. But I never saw him, and he never answered me.

* * *

By one o'clock, I realized that he wasn't going to show up, but I was still anxious the rest of the day. My mind tried to placate me with possible explanations, but none of them really fit.

I was anxious, but I didn't imagine that the process would be repeated the next day. And the next. This continued on all week, and I got progressively more worried. I had no idea what could've happened. I had been to Edward's house on Monday, and now it was Sunday, and Casper still hadn't shown up. It was the day I got my chance, though. Renée had been home all week, but Sunday morning she announced she was going shopping. I took my chance.

"EDWARD!!" I called, practically shouted as I paced the upstairs hallway, "Edward, you're freaking me out!!". After about fifteen minutes I decided he either wasn't there, or was so angry with me he was giving up and ignoring me completely, so I headed back to my bedroom, close to tears.

I almost had a heart attack when I opened the door. There he was not five feet away, but standing with his back to me. After the initial surprise, relief washed through me, but it quickly turned to anger. "What the **hell**, Edward Masen? Where have you been?" I was just started yelling, when I realized that I was supposed to be apologizing, and that he was already mad at me. "I'm sorry, I mean, Edward I was just so worried, I had no idea where you'd gone, and Edward, I'm sorry I'm so bad at this! But I will try harder! Just bring me back, and I promise, I'll do better!"

He face was hard, but I could sense some emotion lurking beneath the surface as he finally turned toward me. "You're not going back."

"But Edward, I have to! I have to save you!"

He shook his head. "No. We were wrong, that's not. . . it's something else. We had the wrong plan."

This shocked me, but I pressed on. "Then tell me the right plan Edward! What can I do I need to-"

"No." he said, and his face was cold, defiant. "You can't help."

I was mad now. "Edward, I know I messed up, but I can fix this! I'm supposed to be the one figuring this out! You said I was meant to help you, you're not supposed to be figuring this out, I am! It's my job!"

During this exchange, he had ended up with his back to me, and he was facing the door. Now he turned, and his face was dangerous, and furious. "It's MY LIFE!" he roared, and then wheeled, heading out my door. If he had actually had substance, there would have been a lot of noise, probably a door slam, but as it was, there was only an eerie silence.

I stumbled after him, barely thinking, but of course he was gone when I got to the hallway. I stood there, numb and dazed, staring into the empty air, searching vainly for a figure I knew I wouldn't find.

* * *

**A few things: First, sorry for the craptastic chapter titles. And yes, this one is a New Moon reference. This chapter reminded me a lot of New Moon, and also certain parts of Twilight/MS, when I was writing it. hopefully that's not giving away to much. :P So, I think that's pretty much all. I won't say when the next chapter will come, because I'll be wrong. :P So . . rrrrrrrrrreview!!!! :D And thank you to everyone who has so far! :D**

**SkySong :)  
**


	11. Let me make it right

**AN: So, I hemmed and hawed over this forever. Originally, I had a lot of things happening in chapter eleven, but they're all pretty important, so I decided to split them into three small (and I mean small) chapters. But they're all important, so don't let the size fool you. :) I also have the second one written already, so it'll be up quickly. As always, thanks to those who reviewed my last chapter, I especially love hearing your theories! **

* * *

As soon as I started thinking again, back in my room, as the numbness was wearing off, I knew I didn't believe it. Not for a minute. If he really thought the plan was wrong, he would've told me. The Casper I knew would've wanted to work it out together. It wouldn't have made him distance himself from me like he had. No, that ws all his frustration at me. Well-deserved frustration for my failure. But I was still determined to try and make it right.

I knew he wouldn't come back and listen to me face to face - one thing I'd learned about Edward was that he was stubborn, once he picked a course, he would stick to it, even if it killed him. Or threatened his chances of an afterlife. But then again, I though with a pang, _I_, me, my incompetence, had been threatening his chances of an afterlife. He'd probably decided to give up on my as a hopeless case, and try again when we moved out.

But I wasn't a hopeless case, and I would prove it to him. He wouldn't talk to me, but there were other ways. I strode to my desk and pulled a pad of stationary from the drawer, ripping off the top piece. I grabbed a pen, sat down, and wrote. I wrote quickly, so I wouldn't have time to think about what I was putting down on the paper. I tried to let the words flow straight from my soul.

What I needed to say didn't take long, and soon it was finished. I left it on my desk as I went about the simple tasks I needed to complete to carry out my plan. He needed to see what I'd written.

Soon, though, I'd run out of tasks. I meticulously checked through my canvas shoulder bag one more time, but there wasn't much to take inventory of. Water bottle, keys, wallet. I scribbled a note for Renée, telling her I'd gone for a walk, picked up the letter on my desk, and walked out the door.

* * *

My feet knew the way, which was probably good, as my brain still wasn't functioning completely. I hoped it wasn't permanently broken. I woke up a little as I reached the little grocery store, and wound my way through the Wonderbread, the ice cream, and he Cheerios to the miniscule florists section at the back. The wasn't much to choose from. I found decent-looking bunch of white lilies, hoping she would like them. Then I made my way back to the roses. Again, there wasn't much selection. A few bunches of red and pink, but I didn't really want to go there. They seemed too romantic. And that wasn't what I was after at all. I might've wanted that, but I wasn't allowing myself to think of it.

And then, behind a cluster of slightly tired-looking roses the colour of blood, was a perfect bouquet of six yellow ones. Not a hint of wilt, and a perfect colour. I hoped it would say friendship, and, most importantly, _I'm sorry_.

When the cashier, a woman in her thirties with bleach-blonde hair who looked like she had far too much time on her hands, gave me a conspiratorial look. "These for your boyfriend?" she asked, wagging her eyebrows suggestively at the yellow roses.

"No." I replied curtly, probably more offended than necessary by her comments due to my wishes, and the events of this morning. And then I added, because I was in a bad mood and wanted her to squirm, "They're for my friend's grave, actually."

"Oh." she didn't know what to say to that, and I felt a brief pang of guilt, but I shook it off.

* * *

When I left the store, though, I found my feet just wouldn't take me where I wanted to go. Instead, I wandered the streets. I went past so many significant places. I never thought I'd make this many memories in this town, especially not in so short a time. But almost every corner, I saw something that brought a lump to my throat. The library where I'd first learned about him. The park where we'd sat so many mornings - it was still there, even if the benches had been replaced. The street where Edward had bought his paper every morning. It now held a dingy little strip mall and rows of bland, beige cookiecutter houses, but it was still the same street. As I walked, I was seeing ghosts everywhere. But never the one I wanted to see.

Finally, my feet, and my head, were ready to go where I'd initially planned, and I felt surprisingly calm as I walked under the low, wrought iron arch. I visited Elisabeth's headstone first, unwrapping the lilies and placing them on the grass above her. "These are from Edward," I whispered "I know he's always wanted to give them to you."

I was frozen there for a while longer - I couldn't say how much time passed, it could've been hours, minutes, or only seconds, before I tore my eyes away. I robotically removed the paper from the cluster of roses before turing to his grave, having to read the words "Edward Anthony Masen" in large, block type. It almost seemed to make what had happened this morning more real, and worse, seeing it there. I bent down and carefully placed the yellow flowers in front of the stone, and then positioned the paper I'd brought with me under them, so that, although it wouldn't be obvious to passers-by, he'd be able to see the words I'd written there:

_Edward,_

_I'm sorry. So sorry. I messed up, I know, but I want to help you. Please, please, let me make it right. I want to help you, but I can't if you won't let me. _

_Please._

_Bella._

_

* * *

_

**So, that was short, and probably not terribly exciting, but necessary, and the next will be up soon. As I said, it's already written, so you know how to get it? Review!!! :D seriously, I love them, and it'll make me happy and want to post the next chapter. And, If I do say so myself, the next chapter, while also short, is very good. :D So, please review, thank you for reading, and, in the meantime, I'd love it if you checked out my other fic, _When you get to keep an angel with you._**

**SkySong :D_  
_**


	12. Before this summer

**AN: Okay, so, this is a little late. I don't know if I promised it by yesterday in my AN, but I definitely did in replies to some reviews. However, for once, I can say that this isn't my fault. :D I did come on here last night at around nine to make some final edits, add ANs, and upload. But when I tried to acess the Document manager I was told that it was temporarily down and to come back in a few minutes. Which I did. And then in an hour. And then this morning. But finally, it's working, so you get the next chapter. :D As always, thank you for the reviews, I'm glad you liked it!! And, this is a chapter I really like. I can't tell if it's sad or not anymore, because I know what comes next. :) So, read on!!**

* * *

For the next day - just one day, I told myself - I let myself mope. I wasn't even sure why I needed to so badly. It wasn't just that I'd lost a very, very good friend, it felt like more than that. I knew now, I let myself admit it, that I'd wanted it to be more. Which, I was telling myself, was exactly why it was good that it was over.

After Charlie and Renée left - it was the second last week in August now, and she was going in to get her classroom ready - I picked up the stack of Edward's diaries and headed to his piano room. I'd already read them all, and was just flipping through them, wrapped in his handwriting, his familiar phrasing, this familiar room - all the things that held _him_ , and allowing myself to grieve.

I hadn't looked through these since that first day with Casper, when we'd tried to figure out a plan, so, I'd somehow forgotten the photo that I'd stuck back into the front of the third journal. There was one for every year, all starting on his birthday, so this last one was very short. I read it through more carefully this time, knowing that, for many of the entries, I had been with him. Of course, this was the one thing that couldn't change, so the pages didn't reflect that, but still, I knew. I felt a slight shock when I turned a page and saw today's date, in 1918, of course, staring back at me. I stared at the entry, wondering if that really did reflect the day he was having, or if he was missing me at all, as I was missing him. I stared at that page, and the photo clutched in my hand, and I just wished. Wished I could get back there one more time, whether Casper would help me or not. One more chance to make it right.

And then, as I was sitting there, staring, and wishing, I could almost see the place I so wanted to be in front of me. It became cleared and clear by the second, until I could smell the flowers from Elisabeth's garden, hear the birds singing, and I could no longer feel the rough, dusty fabric of the window seat under me.

It wasn't until I saw the screen door of the white house open, and Edward step out, when I saw his face light up as he saw me there, that I realized, that, somehow, magically, I'd gotten my wish. Inside, I was screaming with joy, but I also told myself very severely _Bella, you know why you're here. Don't screw this up. _

"Isabella!" He called, striding towards me on his long legs, almost running. "I was worried about you! I haven't seen you for a week." When he reached me, he picked up my hand, as always, but instead of raising it to his lips, he held it in both of his. It felt wonderful, but I also knew that it shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," I started, "we had to go out of town for a few days, it was sudden."

"That's alright," he smiled, my favourite crooked smile. As we were talking, he was leading me up towards his house. "Would you like to sit with me for a bit?" he asked, gesturing to the porch swing in front of me. It really was a question, I realized, and I was free to refuse. But I needed to talk to him, I _was_ going to take this chance to make things right.

"Yes, please," I agreed, gathering my long skirt under me and taking my place beside him on the seat.

* * *

After we had exchanged a few pleasantries, he turned to me with a very serious look in his eyes. "Isabella, can I tell you something?"

I was frozen in my seat. I had the feeling this wasn't where I had meant to take the conversation, but I was powerless to stop it. I couldn't find my voice, so I just nodded.

"Isabella," he started, looking me square in the eyes, his torso turned towards me. "Before this summer, I've never known anyone who I wanted to spend time with in a way other than my mother and father. I've never really even had a friend, someone my own age, that I've wanted to spend more time with than just the boys playing baseball, football. But this summer, Isabella. I feel like I could spend hours just talking to you. Before this summer, my biggest wish was to join the war. I love my mother and father, Isabella, but I was willing to leave them behind for that. But this summer, I found that there was maybe something I wouldn't sacrifice for that." It was coming, I would feel it, the words I both dreaded and dreamt of. "Isabella, I love you." He eyes burned into mine with the depth of his emotion. His politeness was too ingrained, though, and an inch away from my face, he stopped. He was holding both my hands in his now, and we were both turned toward each other, leaning in. "May I?"

Even if I'd wanted to, I was unable to refuse. "yes." I whispered. It was barely audible, but he heard it.

I'd read enough books to know what a kiss was supposed to feel like, fireworks and all that, but I'd never really believed it could be true, until I felt it. It truly was like fireworks as his lips, gentle, hesitant, met mine. For only a moment, and then he pulled away, holding my face between his hands, to look me in the eyes.

There are times when you know you should lie, but before you can think of one, because of the pressure of the situation, the truth slips out without your permission. Usually, in those situations, I'm trying to conceal something that would get me in trouble. This wasn't anything I'd done wrong, but I had the exact same feeling as this truth slipped out before I could even think to stop it. "I love you."

* * *

**AN: Ahaha, sorry for the cliffie, you know I'm evil. :) So, as always, tell me what you think in a review, and thank you for reading!! (also, if you wanted to check out my other story, I'd greatly appreciate it :D) **

**Also, I'm asking for some opinions. This story's winding to a close, but would you guys like a sequel? I have ideas. And, would you be interested in a few chapters (going back) or EPOV to see what he was thinking?**

**Thanks (in advance) for reading, reviews, and feedback!! :D**

**SkySong  
**


	13. You already have

**AN: As always, a huge thank you to all my reviewers!! You guys make me keep writing :D And, here's 13!! :D Also, I'm going to keep these ANs short, as I need to get to bed because I have two exams tomorrow, but I really wanted to put this up for you guys. :)**

* * *

As I said those fateful words - the words he'd obviously so longed to hear - his face broke into a breathtaking, exalted smile, and he leaned towards me again.

But, before his lips met mine, something went wrong. First, his face, and everything else in my field of vision, was leached of colour, like I was watching a movie that suddenly turned to black and white. Then it grew fuzzy and began to fade, another picture taking shape, growing stronger as Edward's face grew weaker. "No!" I wanted to shout. "Let me stay!" But I was helpless to stop it as the image of his face got dimmer and dimmer, fuzzy and indistinct, and then it was gone completely, and all I could see around me was my familiar bedroom.

I staggered a few steps backwards, my knees giving way as they hit the edge of my bed, and I almost fell onto it. My heart was thundering, my head spinning. From what had just happened. From wondering how in the world it _had _happened. And also, from knowing that I had just royally screwed up what would probably be the one chance I would get to make things better.

* * *

I was still sitting there, stunned, trying to compose my thoughts, when the last thing I was expecting to see appeared in my room. Casper. Somehow, the moment I'd realized what had happened, I was sure it had had nothing to do with him. For one thing, the journey through time was much different from when he had taken me. And, if I'd severely doubted that I'd see him again before this morning, I had been positive I wouldn't after. He'd be furious with me, I thought, for going back without his permission, and then even angrier that I'd screwed up yet again.

When I saw him there, my first thought was that he was there to tell me off again for wasting yet another chance to carryout the plan, and, even though he didn't look mad, not yet, I started apologizing. It was preemptive, but it was also so true. I had failed him, yet again, and I was sorry. "Edward, I'm so sorry, I-"

His expression, which had been before a strange mix of sadness and triumph, became confused, and almost. . . angry? "What could you possibly have to be sorry for, Bella?"

What? "I -I messed up, Edward, again! I know you gave up on me, but I still wanted to help you, and I got a chance, and I screwed it up, and I'm so sorry, and I promise next time I'll be better and please, just give me another chance." I was barely coherent now, and close to tears. At least he couldn't doubt my sincerity.

Confusion was still the dominant emotion on his face, his brow puckered. "I don't. . . understand, Isabella. Another chance at what? What do you have to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong. You did everything right." Was it just me, though, or did he look sad, regretful when he said that?

"Another chance at saving you!! At getting you to war, away from Chicago! At helping you!"

Comprehension dawned on his face, then frustration. "I told you, Bella, that's not right. We got it wrong. The plan was wrong. That wasn't what I needed."

I was starting to get angry now. He was still going to try _that_? Why had he come then? "Edward, I know what you said. But I also know you were lying!! You only said that because I was screwing up so much, and you wanted to be rid of me!", I threw at him.

"No."

"No what? No, you weren't lying?"

"No, I didn't say that because you were screwing up. You were doing beautifully, Bella." And there was no way to doubt his words, his eyes burned with sincerity. "But we _did_ get the plan wrong."

That threw me for a loop. "We did? But we were so sure . . . that you were supposed to survive!"

He shook his head sadly, turning slightly to stare broodingly out my window. Was it just a coincidence that, as a result, he hid his face from me? "But I wasn't. I'm still supposed to die, still am going to die in. . ." he glanced at the calendar on my wall, " little over a month. But there was something that I was supposed to do before I died."

I grasped on to this. "Then let me help you do it!"

He turned back to me then, finally, smiling sadly. "Don't you see, Bella? You already have."

"What? No, I haven't done anything!" I protested.

"You have." He assured me. "Think. You heard what it was less than an hour ago." When I offered no response, he continued. "Before I met you, I never knew anyone who I cared for in a different way than my mother and father. Never even really someone unrelated to me whom I cared for in a platonic sense. And, even though I loved my parents, there were things I was willing to give them up for. I never had anyone I wouldn't give up for those things. Never, Isabella," he continued, his eyes catching and holding mine as he said this, "did I ever experience love. Not even for a day, a week. And then I met you.", he smiled. "That's what I was missing, why I couldn't cross over. I had never found love, in any way. But you helped me find it. And now, I can leave."

My eyes widened at this, my heart picking up speed. In all the times we'd been planning helping Edward cross over, I'd somehow sidestepped the fact that this would mean he would be gone. And I'd expected some warning. "You can leave?" I repeated senselessly.

"Yes. I knew it the minute you told me. I just thought I should come back and say goodbye, explain things. Goodbye, Isabella. And, from the bottom of my heart, thank you." With that, he disappeared. Or rather, began to disappear. It wasn't like normal, though, when he was there one second and gone the next. Instead, he seemed to freeze, then blur and fade. I was frozen, all I could do was stare at him. I didn't even know if the frozen image was still him, or simply a shell. But then its lips moved. I couldn't hear the words, either they were too quiet, or he couldn't make sound at all, and I couldn't quite make them out from his lips. It looked short, though. Two, maybe three words.

He faded slowly, and I don't know how long I sat there, unable to move, watching what had become, in these last weeks, the centre of my universe, slowly fade from it. eventually, I realized I was simply staring at a blank wall.

It was about then that I found the room suddenly flipped on its side, and it took me a moment to realize that I'd collapsed. Instead of trying to get up, I just closed my eyes, and let the blackness take me.

* * *

**AN: There you go!! I hope you liked it, and, as always, please tell me in a review!! :D**

**-SkySong**


	14. Can't remember, can't forget

**AN: Argh. I just typed all my author's notes, and then accidentally clicked a bookmark and it erased them. :( Anywho. I don't really like this chapter. I'm almost not feeling this story anymore, I need to get back into it. I really liked the next chapter though, so hopefully that will help. I may do a chapter of my other story before that's up, though. And then, as always, a huge thank you to all of my reviewers!! I have 60 now, you guys are prostar. :D**

**And, a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to. . . *drumroll* Edward Cullen!! :D  
**

* * *

I resurfaced slowly.

First, there were the few blissful moments of disoriented not-remembering. I couldn't think why I was lying in bed, on top of my blankets, clothes still on. Or why the light was coming in at such an angle.

And then the events of that morning came flooding back. First, the kiss, and every word Edward had said, that I would cherish forever. But then, inevitably, the bad things, and I remembered. Everything. Why I was lying here. Why I wished I couldn't remember.

I was surprised how painful it was, how painful the memories were. _It shouldn't be this bad_, I thought. I'd only known him for what, a summer? We weren't even . . together. Not really, but now I knew he had wanted that too.

_He_ had. Edward had. But Casper. . .

And that, I realized was the other thing bothering me.

I knew Casper well enough to know when, when he said "I" or "me", he was referring to himself, and when he was referring to Edward. This morning, it had been all Edward. I knew, there was no way to doubt, after this morning, that Edward loved me, as I loved him. For real, not a schoolyard crush. No, this summer, it had been something more than that.

But, I also knew, as much as I loved Edward, I also loved Casper. Because, although Edward wasn't Casper, Casper _was_ Edward. He had all Edward's memories, even the new ones we were making. But he was also him, and I loved him all the more for that. Maybe it was because I didn't have to pretend, didn't have to hide, with Casper, as I sometimes did with Edward, but, whatever it was, I loved him even more. And yet, he didn't love me. He liked me, that I was sure, but love? That was only Edward.

And that, I believed was what was hurting me. But it was also them leaving. The combination of the two unrequited love, and love lost. . . it was hard to describe the feeling.

The only similar thing I'd ever known - in books of course - was a breakup, or a loss, and that was always equated to something like the world ending. But this, although it hurt me, though my very heart was aching, didn't feel like that. It wasn't the end of the world, no. It was more like. . .the destruction of the nebulous Earth. The planet had been born already, and maybe there was water in the oceans. Maybe even the first forms of life were starting, tiny Archaea in the seafloor vents. And then, in some calamitous disaster-movie scenario, it is destroyed.

So where does that leave me?

Aching. Wanting. Wishing. Trying to forget, yet terrified to lose the memories.

Thoughts and images were flashing through my head as I sat there, trying to make sense of everything. Some were too painful to see now, and I pushed them away, willing my mind to send me something safe to grasp onto. And then it did. For some reason, a still picture, of the cashier at the grocery store the other day. The suggestive look on her face as she wrung up my roses. Why? I wondered.

It was, of course, of no importance, really, but if I let myself become consumed with this mystery, even briefly, I wouldn't think of- _no Bella, stop. Not allowed._

* * *

Without really deciding to, I found myself sitting at my desk, waking up my computer, making my way to Google. I found myself typing in "the meaning of roses".

On the first page, I found a promising site entitled "the language of flowers". I was a bright, unnatural pink, and outdated-looking, with cheap clip-art flowers decorating the border. Nevertheless, I clicked on "roses".

This page just had a picture of one for a background, with plain black type. At the top, I was greeted with one brief sentence. "The rose is a very popular, versatile flower, for anything from love, to appreciation, to "get well", "congratulations", and sympathy."

Then there was a chart for the meaning of different colours. Normally, I would have found this all very silly, but I was trying to distract myself, so I scrolled down to yellow. While some colours had whole paragraphs, for this, there were only two words.

_Love everlasting_

Okay, this hadn't been a good idea. Actually, it had been a really really bad idea, I realized, as, involuntarily, I slumped over, my breathing coming fast, it all crashing back down.

Because yes, yes, how true that was. And how much, now, I wished it weren't.

* * *

_Tomorrow, _I promised myself_, Tomorrow I will get up, I'll endure, I'll survive. Tomorrow, I'll try to forget, I'll get better._

But tonight, all I could do was curl up tight in a ball, and cry. Cry for love, love everlasting, love lost, and, worst of all, love unrequited.

* * *

And, in time, I did. I did endure, I did survive. Get better, though, I wasn't sure of. I still missed him. Anything that reminded me of him - and that was a lot of things - still brought that aching, throbbing feeling into my heart. Which was why, as much as was possible, I avoided those things.

Why, as I often did these days, I found myself walking. Just walking around. Not near where _we_ used to walk, in a different neighborhood. Where, in just under two weeks' time, I would be starting school.

* * *

It was the last week of August now, and I'd be starting at Mapledale high in less than a week. Before, this thought would've terrified me. But truthfully, there wasn't much left in me to be terrified any more. It seemed that all I could do now was walk through the neighborhood, go through my daily tasks, and try not to remember, but also not to forget.

It was getting late now, so I turned back onto our street. This was the hardest part, because I couldn't avoid seeing the things that reminded me. When my eyes fell on our porch, it wasn't the mess of boxes from moving, and Renée's rubber boots and garden tools, but a quaint wooden porch swing, that I saw. I shook my head to clear my mind of the picture that sent my heart throbbing, and turned the handle.

My mother heard me come in, and called out to me. "Bella, could you come in here?"

I followed her voice, and if there had been any emotion left in me, I would have been surprised to see her sitting in the living room with a woman about her age, and a very tall girl about mine, who looked kind of shy and uncomfortable. They were all drinking tea.

Bella, This is Mrs. Webber and her daughter Angela", Renée started, and when I just gave her a blank look, she continued. "Mrs. Webber visited when we moved in, and she realized Angela will be going to the same school as you! They've invited you over for dinner on Thursday to meet some of the kids you'll be going to school with, isn't that nice?"

I knew I should be feeling something; embarrassment, at my mother acting like I was five, or sympathy for Angela, who was clearly uncomfortable, or gratitude, maybe, that the first day would be maybe a little easier. I knew it, but I couldn't feel it.

I managed a smile that hopefully didn't look too forced. "Thanks, that's really nice of you."

* * *

**AN: So, there you have it. As I said, I'm not sure about this chapter. I do like the bit with the roses, though. I thought it was kinda cute. :) I'm not even sure if that meaning of them is legitly true, but it was in another book I've read, and I thought it fit. :)**

**And now, rrrrrrrrrrrrreview!**

**Thank you for reading!**

**-SkySong. :)  
**

* * *


	15. New kid

**AN: Well, here we are, the last official chapter of **_**I'll Make a Believer out of You**_**! I'm still going to add an epilogue, but this is the last real chapter. I hope you guys have enjoyed it, and once more, a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed, added me to alerts and faves, and even just read my story! An especially big thank-you goes out to BerryEbilBunny and kyrandiana, who've been with this story from almost the beginning, and reviewed almost every chapter, I really appreciate it, guys! :D And, now, anything I say further will be in danger of giving away the plot of this chapter, so read on, and I'll ramble more at the end. :)**

* * *

As I'd lived this summer, I knew I was changing. I'd always had somewhat of a shell around me. I don't even know if I purposely put it there, but I'd always had a problem connecting with people. I'd never been on exactly the same plane as anyone, and I always acted older than my age, too concerned with school, and spending most of my free time with my books.

So this summer, I'd realized I was changing. I was opening up, acting more my age.

Now, I mused, as I got ready for the first day at a new school, I had changed again, but in the opposite way. Before, I had started acting more normal, more my age. But now, I was going backwards, retreating more into my shell than even before.

Before this summer, the first day at a new school would have terrified me, and I would have dreaded it. Now, I simply didn't really care one way or the other.

Before, I would have been pleased at the invitation to Angela's, realized how good it would be to know people before school started. I also would have recognized the fact that Angela was very like me, someone who I could be friends with. Now I just didn't really care. Didn't really care that today I was getting picked up by Angela and another girl, Jessica who I'd met at dinner the other night. It just didn't seem to matter anymore.

And finally, before this summer, I would have been obsessing over what to wear. How to not stick out, but also be accepted and liked. Now, I just threw on whatever, not really caring. But then I glanced down at my outfit - black cotton capri pants, a navy blue t-shirt, and my black flip-flops - and realized that I was maybe still paying attention to my clothes, more than I realized. They reflected my mood, at least.

Just then, the sharp, impatient blast of a car horn jerked me out of my reverie, and I looked out the window to see the two girls I'd met, Jessica Stanley and Angela Webber, waiting in my driveway in a battered white Mercury. I grabbed my beige canvas backpack off the bed, and started down the stairs.

* * *

As we drove the few minutes to the school, Jessica chattered incessantly about teachers and classes. The "cute" new biology teacher, the "weird" english teacher, and a math teacher she really didn't like, whose hair she was now making fun of. I tried to tune it out.

Angela, on the other hand, was quietly telling me what to expect today. "It's not actually a real full day," she told me, "it's kind of like a welcome day. Not many schools I know of do it, but Mapledale does." From what I could hear of her explanation over Jessica's continuing monologue, we were out in the yard from nine until eleven, where we would have a chance to "catch up with", or in my case, meet, the other students before school started(to get it out of our systems, Angela said), as well as pick up our timetables for the first semester, and there would also be tables set up for signups to clubs and sports team try-outs, she said. Then, there was going to be an address by the principal, and a barbeque lunch. After that, we would have a chance to go to all of our classes, but only for fifteen minutes each, where we would meet the teachers and be given book and supply lists. Then we could go home, at around one-thirty.

Before, I probably would have been trying to decide whether this would be better, or worse, than just a normal first day, but again, I just didn't really care anymore.

* * *

When we got to the school, the little yard was packed with students. There were also a bunch of tables around the perimeter, with bright signs above them. I saw "Shakespeare club sign-ups:everyone welcome, no acting experience necessary!" and "JV football try-outs, sign-up here".

Jessica pulled into a little lot with cracked pavement that was already mostly full of students' cars, and then she led me and Angela into the throng of people.

As we walked, people called out greetings to Jessica and Angela, and some looked curiously at me. Angela acknowledged people with a shy smile and a small wave, but Jessica seemed more intent on the next step of her guided tour of Mapledale high.

She was taking it upon herself to show me all the cliques and groups of people around us, and I realized, soemwhere deep in my brain, that I should find it funny, how much she sounded like a character from a bad movie set in a high school.

She'd pointed out groups of people, including the "drama kid shakespeare freaks", "those weird art kids", "band geeks" and many more, while Angela looked on slightly disapprovingly.

Now, though, we were nearing the centre of the yard, and these next groups she definitely didn't look down upon. "That, over there, is Rosalie Hale," she said, pointing to a tall, statuesque girl with long blonde hair. She looked as if she thought the world revolved around her. "She's a senior now, and she'll be captain of the cheerleading squad this year. She rules the school."

At this last remark, Angela rolled her eyes, and muttered "only because people like you act like she does."

"She's got a new boyfriend every couple of weeks," Jessica continued, sounding slightly wistful. Again, I realized that this should have been funny. "Of course, everyone knows that who she really wants is Emmet Cullen - that's the captain of the football team, and only the best-looking guy at MHS," she clarified, and Angela rolled her eyes. "He wants her too, but neither of them will admit it, or ask the other out. They're used to having people come to them. Ang, where's Emmet Cullen?" she asked.

"Over there," Angela replied, pointing to a group of big, muscular, jock-type guys against the wall of the building. It was fairly easy to pick out the one who must be Emmet. He was tall, and, as Jessica had promised, quite good looking, with straight, even features, deep blue eyes, and dark curly hair. At the moment, his attention was turned to someone beside him, and it was funny, because his gestures seemed to mimic Jessica's, it looked like he was showing someone around as well.

I was just about to look to see who he was showing around, but Jessica was a step ahead of me. "Who's that new kid beside Cullen? I've never seen him before."

"I don't know," answered Angela, "I haven't seen him before either."

"Damn, he's gorgeous!" exclaimed Jess.

I finally turned to look at the new boy who was causing such a stir. For some reason, he registered slowly, my gaze travelling from his feet, clad in navy blue converse sneakers, upwards.

He was tall and lean, but still muscular. He was wearing dark jeans, and leaning against the brick of the school. The sleeves of his dark blue T-shirt were pushed up to his elbows, and his skin was pale, in the way only redheads are pale.

Finally, my eyes made it up to his face. First I took in his hair - longish, bronze-coloured, and startlingly familiar. Then, the rest of his face took shape, and he _was_ good looking, with a strong jaw and sculpted features. His eyes and the upper part of his face were obscured by the dark aviator-style sunglasses he wore, but what I did see caused me a sharp intake of breath.

It _couldn't _be. I closed my eyes, giving my head a shake. _When you open them_, I told myself, _it will all have been a trick of the light, and he'll just be some random guy._

But I did open them, and that was not true, not at all. The only thing that had changed was that he had removed the sunglasses, and was now staring at me with piercing green eyes, bright and clear as emeralds.

The moment his eyes locked with mine, it was like everything else disappeared. My heart sped up, and my feet moved forward of their own accord, racing and stumbling forward to meet him as he strode across the small yard toward me.

As I had almost reached him, never moving my eyes from his, I stumbled, but before I could fall, strong, sure hands, caught my elbows and steadied me. "Careful, there," he cautioned, but his face broke into a wide, exhalted smile as he spoke.

Even with him right there, still holding my arms, I couldn't be sure he was real. "Edward?" I breathed.

"Isabella." He said my name not as a question, not as if he had been seeking me, but as if he was acknowledging he'd found me. And with that, he wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting my feet off the ground, and holding me to him as his lips met mine.

**

* * *

There you have it!! I hoped you liked this last chapter as much as me. I hope no one was disappointed by it. This has always been what the ending was going to be. I'm a sucker for happy endings. :) As you'll probably point out, I've left a lot of loose ends untied. How did Edward get there?, for example. I've got answers for them all, and you'll get a few in the epilogue, as well as more in the EPOV I'm going to do. Now, as for my updating schedule. The EPOV will be next, and I'll probably wait to post the epilogue until after the first of that is up, so I can be sure to notify you guys that it's up if you don't have me on author alert. Then, if I'm still getting good response, there's going to be a sequel. Actually, there will probably be two, because, first of all, I feel like writing some fun, kind of light, high-school drama, and second, because the original sequel plot takes place two years after this ends. So, look forward to those!! They might not be up right away, though, because I also want to work on my other story, and I have another I'd like to start, a Carlisle/Esme AH.**

**So, THANK YOU to everyone who has read this, my first fanfic! :D I hope you enjoyed it! :)**

**-SkySong**


	16. Epilogue

**Again, I just can't stress enough how thrilled I am with the response to this story!! I know my seventy-odd reviews aren't much compared with the thousands others have, but I'm really pleased with my little fan base! I hope you continue to read and review my other stuff, including the EPOV and the sequel! And now, the epilogue of _I'll Make a Believer out of You!!!_**

* * *

It was amazing how much of a change could be effectuated overnight.

Yesterday, I wasn't paying attention to my clothes, wasn't even affected by the fact that school was starting.

Now, I was eager to get to MHS, and was now carefully choosing an outfit from my closet. It was actually well stocked, and brighter, more eye-catching than what I usually wore, as Renée had taken me back-to-school shopping at the beginning of August. This had bothered me yesterday, nothing had fit my black mood. But today, I loved the bright, happy colours and feminine styles, and chose a pair of cute, blue plaid shorts and a soft, cream coloured top with an empire waist. In a very uncharacteristic move, I even wore jewelry, putting on a pair of simple pearl earrings that Charlie and Renée had given me for my fourteenth birthday.

Today, I was excited as I waited in my room for my ride, not apathetic as yesterday, and, today, when it did come, it wasn't the sharp, impatient blast of a car horn that alerted me, but the soft, musical tinkling of our doorbell. I grabbed my backpack off my bed, but today my steps were light and excited as I raced down the stairs, throwing open the door.

And there he was to greet me, Edward Masen, my own personal miracle. He was, I'd found out yesterday, being fostered by Emmett Cullen's parents (Who included the very same E. Cullen, the librarian, who had helped me find out about him all those weeks ago). He'd only been with them for two weeks or so, but Emmett was already calling Edward his "little bro", and he was driving Edward to school, and had given in fairly easily when Edward had insisted, yesterday, that they drive me too. I think Emmett was a little impressed by Edward's relationship with me. Neither of us would give very many details of how we knew each other, and, for all Emmett knew, I was just a random girl who Edward had walked up to and started making out with yesterday.

"Isabella," Edward greeted me as I opened the door, taking my hand and kissing my fingers, and then swiftly pecking me on the lips. "you look lovely today. Of course, you always do, but today you are _especially _lovely."

I giggled, as we walked to where Emmett was sitting in his giant, cherry red Jeep, rolling his eyes at us. "You're looking pretty fine yourself," I replied, and then Edward kissed me again, right there, and deeper this time, causing Emmett to pretend to gag, and my heart to speed up and attempt to jump out of my chest.

* * *

When we arrived at school, everyone was staring. And I guess we were a bit of something to stare at - Emmett Cullen and his new, equally(if not more) good-looking foster-brother, with his comparatively plain new girlfriend.

When we arrived at my locker, Edward kissed me again, and then left for his locker. "See you in Trigonometry," he said, naming the first class we had together, second period.

I kissed his cheek and whispered "Trig, Edward, call it Trig."

"Oh," he frowned, and then smiled wryly "I guess I've still got a bit to learn about the twenty-first century."

"Mm-hm," I agreed, "but I can teach you" I kissed his cheek again, and he smiled. "See you second period."

As I was putting my books in my locker, I sensed someone behind me. I assumed it was Angela, so I waited for her to speak. When she finally did though, it wasn't Angela's sweet, quiet voice, but a harsh, sneering girl's voice. "Are you stupid, Isabella?"

A blush bloomed on my cheeks, from anger, as I whirled around to face none other than Rosalie Hale. Even though her cold, blue gaze made me feel about three feet tall, I tried to sound brave as I replied. "No, actually. And I prefer Bella."

"I know you do, Isabella," she retorted, carefully enunciating my full name, "but I don't think that suits you. It means "beautiful", in Italian, don't you know?"

Ouch. "I do, actually. I'm not _stupid_, you know." I retorted, trying to sound brave, but, really, she was very intimidating.

"Actually, I think you are," she replied, "or you wouldn't be acting like you own Emmett's new brother, that Edwin guy."

"Edward," I corrected her. "And why not?"

"Why not?" she repeated, laughing, and the sound would have been pleasant if it wasn't so filled with hostility. "He shouldn't be with you, he's good for you," she stated, as if this should be glaringly obvious. "he's much more in _my _league. "So I wouldn't go around acting like I owned him, if I were you. He won't be on your arm for very much longer." and with that, she flounced away, not even giving me time to reply.

But I did anyways. "Oh, really?" I asked under my breath. "We'll see about that."

Before, her comment would have really bothered me. But now, I could brush it off. Edward belonged with me, and wanted me, as I did him, that much was clear. I smiled, remembering last night, and how clearly he had illustrated this to me then. . .

* * *

I was in my room, unable to settle to anything because of how ecstatic I was. Of course, I hadn't had much of a chance to talk to Edward alone, as Emmett had stuck with him, and Jessica with all of us, even though Angela, bless her, had tried to distract her, to no avail. So I didn't know any of the details of how he was here, but I knew that he was, and he wanted me. And that was enough. Then, I heard a noise on the far side of the house.

I left my room, and went all the way down the hall, until I was at Edward's piano room. I pushed open the door, and was greeted with the sight of Edward sitting in the window, smiling hugely.

I raced to him, grabbing him in a tight hug, but I quickly pulled away and jumped into my questions. "How did you get here?"

He smiled "The window," he jerked his thumb behind him.

I rolled my eyes, pulling him forward to sit on the window seat behind the newly opened and unshuttered window. "I figured that one out on my own. But I meant here, in Chicago, in 2003! I thought you said you were going. . ." I gestured vaguely towards the ceiling. "you know, up."

"Not "up"," he corrected, smiling. "On. Of course, that usually does mean "up", I've found out. But apparently, sometimes, if a person has been really good, above and beyond the normal, they are given a reward beyond just that of passing through the pearly gates. So here I am."

"Really?" I asked. This was hard to wrap my head around, for someone who, until a few months ago, hadn't really even believed in heaven, much less ghosts and reincarnation. And then "well, it makes sense. No one is more deserving of a reward than you. Although I hardly am one."

"Oh no," he explained. "It's not me who gets the reward. Although you certainly _are_ one. That was just a lucky coincidence for me. No, I believe your good deed, officially, is called "helping a wandering spirit to find peace." he smiled at me. "But I like to think of it as "you saved me."

* * *

I smiled as I remembered, fresh with my assurance. Yes, I _was_ good enough for him. No, I wasn't near as good-looking as Rosalie. But that didn't matter. I'd saved him. And because of that, we would always have an unbreakable bond. This I was sure of.

* * *

I was still pretty much walking on air as we, Edward and I, walked into the cafeteria for lunch, when Rosalie approached us again. This time, though, Edward was her target. "You know," she smiled, sugary sweet, and looking, as always, jaw-droppingly gorgeous, "You have better options than _her."_ She pointed at me.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean you don't need to resort to Isabella." she threw me a scathing look. "For example, I'm free right now. And you're way out of her league."

"I think it's up to me to decide whose league I'm in, thanks," Edward replied curtly. "Besides," he added, scrutinizing her face, and her long, perfect, honey-blond hair. "I prefer brunettes." And then her turned his back on her, taking me in his arms, and kissing me full on the lips, in the middle of the crowded caf. Yes, I definitely did belong with him.

* * *

**There you have it!! I hope you enjoyed that! As always, please review!! And when you're done, please check out my new story, _And Then I Saw Her Face_, which is the EPOV of selected chapters of this story. I decided to post this before it, but check back, it should be up by late tomorrow, at the latest, I think. :D**


	17. A note please read! :D

**Hey all! So, this is just an AN, sorry, but I just wanted to say once again thank you all so much for all the reviews and support for this story!!!! I think the epilogue got the most ever, so I'm glad you guys enjoyed it! **

**And, that the EPOV, And Then I saw Her Face, is now up, so I'd love it if you'd check that out!!**

**Again, thank you all so so much!!**

**3**

**SkySong**


End file.
